


Dancing On Glass Shoes

by thisloveisradiant



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, implied MikoTotsu, implied one-sided Mikorei
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-04-08 19:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 71,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4316733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisloveisradiant/pseuds/thisloveisradiant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fire in the air and glass shards on the ground, bare feet bleeding with each step they took, so imperfect, so cruelly beautiful. Still, Yata took a look at Saruhiko's pained smile and thought - "ah, this was it, this was true love", as they kissed each other's wounds close and poured love into the cracks of their souls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. River Deep, Mountain High

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is a mix soulmate + A/B/O AU but the main events are still taken from canon. The rules of this universe are mostly the same as the original. Though further explanation will be (vaguely) described throughout the fic, I recommend you do a quick research about these AU to have a good grasp on this story. 
> 
> And I'm so sorry if you come with the intent to read about mpreg, because I won't touch on that matter here ^^"

  **A is for Abrasion**

At the age of ten, Fushimi was told he would never be more than a speck of dust.

Not even bothering to hide the omega mark on his nape, he shrugged at the stranger. “Heard it all before. Be more creative.”

And really, he couldn’t care less about his inferior genes. Be it dust, or the lowest stair, or alpha’s submitter, or baby-making machine. They were like stupid labels stapled on all sorts of cargoes, and he had no intention to let it scar his already messed up mind any further.

“Aren’t you afraid?” The stranger chuckled, yet the sound was closer to a heavy exhalation.

“Of what?” The boy clicked his tongue.

“The mark on your nape. The words on your wrist. The settled future. Everything.”

Fushimi picked a rock nearby and threw it over the sand playground. It landed heavily, splashing a little sand in the air, and sunk half-way down. He wondered if he should go there to bury it properly, 5 feet under the dirt, so no one would ever be able to find it again.

“Should I?” His voice waved a little. It was cold, and he didn’t wear nearly enough clothes.  

“Haha. You as well may.” The stranger stopped a minute to hum a slow, sad melody, then he spoke again in a strange light tone. “This world is cruelly beautiful.”

Snorting through his nose, Fushimi flung another stone. “Such cheesy speech to say in front of an elementary boy.”

The hoarfrost started to seep into his body, making him shudder involuntarily. Hiding under a children park’s slide at the dead of a winter night, Fushimi thought he knew all too well about the word “cruel”. There was no beauty in it. _And what’s more, beautiful things bore a curse – they would always be destroyed in the end, anyway_.  

Smiling somewhat unconcernedly, the unfamiliar person looked back at the dark misty road. The shadows of the trees shook under a strong gust of wind, leaves blown away from their home. Tomorrow, these pitiful leaves would lie on the dirty street, waiting to be stamped upon by a thousand merciless people.

“Little omega, if you’re playing one-man hide and seek, you should hide where the devil can’t find you.”

Bolting up immediately, Fushimi strained his ears - the gale carried a distant mocking call of his name. He threw a last glare at the stranger before jumping to his feet and running down the path with absolutely no safe destination coming to mind.

 

**B is for Bravery**

The rules of this world were simple and ridiculous. Every human being was born with two birthmarks on their body. The mark on the nape categorized people into Alphas, Betas, and Omegas. The words on one’s right wrist were of the very first sentence their soulmate spoke to them. Similar in a twisted sense, the words on the left wrist were of the last sentence.

As such, sometimes Yata couldn’t help but want to rub the words on his left wrist out.

He tried, as feverish as a child could be. He started with a white cloth, trying to wipe the line off. When it failed, Yata tried his luck with an eraser – rubbing times and again until his wrist turned swollen red. He crossed it with black ink, incredibly messy so, but as time went by the ink would fade and the stupid syllables could be made out again.

“Misaki, you should stop doing that.” His mother said to him one day, after catching him trying to wrap his left wrist up with a scroll of bandage. “I know it’s hard, but you will get used to it over time.”

Yata pouted as he threw the bandage away in frustration. “It’s so annoying, mom! This is why I hate people calling my name! Why had you even named me after this thing anyway?”

“It’s a nice name, something destiny chose for you.” His mother smiled a wistful smile that Yata’d remember years and years later. “You should wear it with proud. After all, it wouldn’t be good at all if your soulmate calls another person’s name as their last word to you, would it?”

Gulping hard, Yata stared at his wrist as a chill ran through his back. “But I don’t like it, it’s literally just a greeting phrase. It doesn’t help to point out my soulmate at all. In fact…knowing the last line doesn’t make any sense, right?”

“You will be fine, Misaki. Don’t let something like this trouble you.” Placing a hand on Yata’s head, the mother winked. “You’ll definitely meet your exclusive love. They’re your soulmate after all, first-words or last-words don’t matter – you’ll just know if they’re the right person.”

“Really?”

“Yes. So for now, you just have to live up to your name and blossom beautifully!”

“Mom!”

Smiling, sweet and kind, his mother caressed Yata’s shoulders and kissed his chestnut hair.

“One day you’ll figure out what these birthmarks mean… But you’re a courageous boy, Misaki, so just fight and live your life to the fullest.”

Yata tilted his head in childish puzzlement, innocent eyes shining under the summer sun, Even though he understood very little, he laughed cheerfully and promised his mother that he would be as strong as a lion.

Even though nothing could completely erase his hatred for his first name and the sunset, Yata didn’t try to hide his left wrist anymore.

 

**C is for Crosscut**

Three alphas pushed Fushimi’s back onto the mossy wall and he smelled the reek of various stinking scents coming from the bullies. They stank of sweat and cheap washing powder, their hair gave off an awful smell of hair-gel and their breaths were as if some insects had crawled into their mouth at mid night and rotted there. The alpha pheromones coming out of their skin were bitter, holding obvious arrogance and sick excitement.  

Fushimi made a disgusted face. In his eyes, the alphas looked like a bunch of mindless animals. Just some more ugly creatures in this stupid society.

“I’m not in the mood to deal with the lot of you.” With blue eyes colder than stones under the deep sea, he spoke in the most bored, emotionless voice humanly possible. “What’re you, a pack of dogs hungry for a fresh piece of meat?”

“Heh, acting all high and mighty now, cute little omega? You step on our territory, you pay with your body!”

A rough filthy hand gripped Fushimi’s shoulder – yet the pain shooting through his veins was no match for his rapidly increasing irritation. He wanted nothing but to cut the violating hand off and got the dirt out of his shirt, then spat in their dumb face as a victory ritual. Mind filled with these twisted thoughts yet knowing full well that he couldn’t have a fair fight - being alone and being weaker by nature - he laughed scornfully. “Worthless garbage.”

Before the alphas could react, Fushimi struck the hand off his shoulder and kicked the opposite guy hard in the nuts. Taking advantage of that single confusing second, he dashed forward, trying to make a shortcut to the main road.  

He was chased immediately, just a few steps of distance and he would be caught against his will. Loud roars and heavy footsteps resounded in his ears, invading his mind in the form of shadow hands trying to crush him. Breaths began to be knocked out of his lungs and his feet felt like being burnt, being stabbed by a thousand needles.

A little more, Fushimi furiously thought, just a few meters left until he can reach the main road. From there, he could dive into the crowd and sneak counter attacks here and there. If things went south, he would easily manage to get away by running across the traffic and letting the cars cut his tail. Only one more step - the dark, filthy hands were so, so close. The muddy scents almost strangled him on the spot.

“FUSHIMI, get down!!”

A sudden scream was the only warning Fushimi had before something brown was thrown sharply right above his ducked head, slamming itself into the closest chaser with a rowdy smash. The big alpha stumbled back and crashed into the other two. They cursed and jumped back to their feet in an instant, intending to resume their little game, but Fushimi was already standing behind a protective makeshift barrier.

Stood proudly in front of Fushimi was Yata Misaki, with a trash bin’s lid held firmly in left hand as a shield and a rusty iron rod in right hand.

“That’s why I told you it’s dangerous to go home alone at this hour.” Yata complained. “Lucky I got worried and came after you!”

“Another little one wants to play? Keh, the more for us~!” One of the bullies licked his lips in a really freaky way that made Fushimi’s skin get goose bumps in sheer disgust. “Won’t you and your pretty omega friend just kneel down already~?”

“W-What! Go to hell, damn pervert!” Yata growled and ran head first to attack with a fierce battle shout. 

For a moment Fushimi felt as if he was hypnotized, for he had never in all his life seen anything so beautiful. Yata’s red hair tossed in the air, small yet flexible body moved like a cat, wild hits based purely on strength and luck. Yata’s fighting style was like a rough edgy ruby – many flaws and many gluts, not fast and not strong enough, but so full of vigor like the summer morning itself. There was no delicacy in the way Yata spinning around and kicking whenever he wanted, but somehow, Fushimi saw the scene as nothing but the most terrifying, irresistible beauty.

Even so, as predicted, Yata was being overpowered. All three punks were teaming up on the short teen – one of them tore the rod out of Yata’s hand and swung it back down.

“Yata!” Fushimi yanked the redhead backward faster than he thought he was capable of. Calculating fast in mind, Fushimi picked the bin’s lid up and threw it square into the oppressor’s face with all his strength. Immediately, as expected, it rebounded to the second alpha’s direction and hit him right in the stomach. “Now!”

Yata sprang forward, fists flying hard to the point of sending the last alpha fall crashing onto the ground.

“Okay! Now go!” A sweating palm gripped Fushimi’s wrist and pulled him away before the fight got worse. He vaguely noticed that there were some nasty bruises on Yata’s hands.

They ran out of the dangerous zone, dived along the street, jostled their way through the crowd, walked fast across the road while ignoring traffic lights and busy vehicles. Gradually, though Fushimi couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment, they began to laugh, adrenaline high in blood.

“H-Honestly, that lid-throwing m-move was so cool, but oh God, Fushimi,” Yata panted, finally stopped at a bus station when he deemed they weren’t followed anymore. “Bullies really do like you, huh? That’s what you get for dressing all honor-student-like, haha.”

“Shut up…” Speaking low to hide how out of breath he was, Fushimi sat heavily on the bench. Yata followed shortly, shrugged when Fushimi glanced sideways with unspoken curiosity.

“What? No way I let you go back alone after something like that happened. Who knows if you’d actually go home!”

“Fine.” Sighing, Fushimi averted his eyes away from the shorter boy and looked straight ahead. Sometimes Yata just hit too close to the bull's eye.

“Fushimi… Hey, are you alright?”

“Tsk. Do I look not okay to you?”

“Well, yeah.”

He managed to not look back when hearing that sincere voice, knowing that a pair of pure hazel eyes was staring at him. He didn’t know what was wrong either. There was a weird feeling in his chest, and it wasn’t from all the previous exercises. Nonetheless, he thought it felt unpleasant.

For once, Yata took the hint and changed the subject.

“Hah, doesn’t this feel somewhat nostalgic? Our first meeting began with a fight against alphas, too! We were beat up pretty badly back then, but now we are awesome, right?!”

“It’s just 5 months ago. Don’t make it sound like we’ve just spent 5 years training martial art or something.”

“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, we’re incredible together and no one can ever take us down anymore, yosh! We’ll show them all that we can do anything!”

To Fushimi, Yata’s positive attitude was unsettling and highly foreign, yet at the same time it made his blood rush in odd excitement. He thought about it, of course, about showing the world what he could do even if that meant he had to burn it down. He knew that he’d fail, though – and so he never did anything worth mentioning.

But now it was different. Now he had Yata by his side. They could do it. They had just thrown three huge, strong alphas off their feet. Give them time and eventually, they would turn the world upside down. Yes, they were in a same page here.

Lips curling just slightly into an unnoticeable smile, Fushimi turned back to the shorter boy, who was still staring at him with sparkling eyes and a bright smile.

“If you keep saying sappy things like that people would think we’re soulmates, Yata. Too bad your first word to me must be a lame name-calling.”

“What are you saying Fushimi?” Yata shrugged. “First word asides, I just can never be your soulmate.”

_Ah._

_That’s right._

“Or course.”

The strange feeling wriggled in Fushimi’s heart again. Still, he didn’t know what it was yet.

 

**D is for Dusk**

“And then, my little sister Megumi spilled her milk all over my homework, I swear! I did do it but it was totally ruined!”

“That excuse is getting old, Yata. Nothing can get you out of detention this time.”

“But!”

“No but.”

Yalta huffed, clearly irritated at the cold-hearted teacher. He truly had done his homework, for once, and this thing happened. What was it called again? Muffin’s law or something? He had even gone to such length like giving some of his favourite snacks to Fushimi to get the taller boy tutor him too… Damn it, like hell he would ever do homework again!

“Can you believe it?” He whispered the complaint not so quietly to Fushimi, who was playing on PDA without a care in the world. “Ugh… Does the universe hate me?”

“Yes.” Fushimi said, with no emotion whatsoever.

“What’s with that? Show a little empathy to me!”

“No.”

“What the heck, stupid Saru!”

Precisely right after the last syllable coming out of his mouth, Fushimi stood up and slammed his palm on the table, making the PDA fling away almost across the class. Yata startled, gulping nervously as he found himself becoming the target of Fushimi’s sharp cold glare. There was a storm of anger and some other feelings that he couldn’t figure out swirling in these darken blue eyes.

“Fushimi? Er, I-I’m sorry?”

The scary expression on his friend’s face turned into an alarming one, as if Fushimi had just noticed that he was making a big mistake. It was disconcerting to see the usually cool-headed Fushimi showing so many emotions just because of a friendly tease.

“Fushimi, is there anything you want to announce to the class?” The teacher growled in obvious irritation, granted, this was the second time the lesson was disrupted.

“…Nothing.”

“Then sit down and be quiet.”

After a few seconds passing without Fushimi making any movement to do as the teacher said, the uneasiness crept onto Yata’s chest again. He felt bad. Maybe he shouldn’t have said something like that – maybe it was more of an insult than he thought.

“H-Hey, I’m sorry, okay? Just sit down Saruhiko!” He tried again, leaning over with the intent to tug at Fushimi’s sleeve. “Gzee, my bad, I’ll never call you stupid again!”

Yata’s fingers grabbed at nothing as Fushimi moved away quickly.

“…0 points.” The quiet mumble was so soft that Yata almost thought it was just the sound of the wind playing with his mind.

“Eh? Ah-Hey!”

The sight of his friend walking nonchalantly right out of the door and ignoring the teacher’s livid scold sent a chill down Yata’s backbone. Guilt gnawed at him, nailed him sitting dead still in his chair for a solid minute. He thought Fushimi would be quite okay with a little foul language – heck, Fushimi’s sharp tongue was way more irritating – but it seemed like insulting a smart person as stupid was one step beyond the borderline.

With that thought in mind, he sprang out of the class and ran after Fushimi. He needed to apologize.

“YATA! That’s it. I give up.” The teacher sighed exaggeratedly while throwing a chalk after him in a fit of rage. “You two troublemakers just do whatever you want – tell that arrogant boy he gets a detention today too!”

Sweats ran down Yata’s forehead. He had lost sight of Fushimi – the hall was eerily empty. However, he knew where he should go, as his feet unconsciously moved to the stair leading to the rooftop.

True to his blind faith, Fushimi was there, lying flat on his back and staring at the cloudy sky.

“Hey.” Yata sat down next to Fushimi, deciding to test the water. He was granted a small glance, but nothing more. “You know I didn’t mean it, right?”

After a tense moment, Fushimi muttered in a low, hesitant tone. “…Not that.”

“Eh? What? So what’re you sulking about?”

“Nothing.” Another glance. This one was familiar, the same kind of look Fushimi had whenever he wanted to put an end to the on going topic. Yata had seen it many times to finally have its meaning drilled into his thick skull.

_But it was so not “nothing”._

“You walked out of the class. Like, just up and walking out even though you know for sure it’ll get you a detention, what’s with that? Don’t you dare tell me “it’s nothing” again because I won’t buy it, Saruhiko!”

The insistence earned him an obnoxious click of tongue. “It’s fine already. I overreacted, and that’s it. Today is cloudy and humid, it puts me in a bad mood.”

Oh. That actually sounded kind of reasonable. Contrary to popular belief, Fushimi had even a shorter temple than his own, just that the guy didn’t act angrily on it. Seeing no use to put much thought on the subject anymore, Yata sprawled about on the floor just an arm length away from the other boy.

“Great, now you have to stay after school with me huh?”

“I want to skip the detention. It’s meaningless, nothing but a pain.”

“Hah, that’s so like you! But you’ll be in so much trouble, the teachers gonna go after your skinny ass and then there’s the whole deal with reporting to family too.”

“No one cares.”

Yata thought there was something odd in that usual flat voice, but when he tilted his head to look at Fushimi, the latter’s face remained as calm as ever. He gulped and tried his luck.

“Saru, it’d be nice if I don’t have to spend the afternoon alone, though.”

A long moment passed before Fushimi slowly looked at him, eyes filled with unusual determination, like the eyes of someone who had just made a life-changing decision.

“Alright, Misaki.”

In a heartbeat, his blood ran cold.

“Don’t…” Yata gritted his teeth, feeling anger coiling at the pit of his stomach. “…ever call me by my first name.”

Fushimi chuckled, yet the sound was nowhere near humorous. “Why?”

Anxiety gripped Yata dead in the heart, sparked flares through his veins all the way down to his fingertips, making him tremble like he just had been hit by a freezing wind. As if there was a mist surrounding him, completely wrapping him in it until he had no choice but to breathe the foggy frost into his lungs.

Curling fingers into tight fists, Yata hissed. “You know damn well why.”

“No, I don’t.” A hint of a teasing smile played at Fushimi’s lips. It looked fake, like there was an invisible force pulling at his face muscles, to the point even Yata could see through it.  “Enlighten me, please.”

Something nagged at the back of his mind, telling him that Fushimi was doing this for a reason. A particular, well-hinted reason. Yet he couldn’t guess what it was. Trying to bite back the anxiety and replace it with irritation, Yata rubbed lightly at his left wrist, a bad habit - a reminder.

“W-Well, I hate that name. Sounds li-like a girl and stuff. Just don’t call me by that name anymore, Saruhiko.”

“You sure don’t like to look at the mirror, huh.” The smile was getting wider. More forced.

“What are you trying to say?”

Fushimi turned to look at the sky once more, clearing all expressions on his face in the process. “Relax. I’m just returning the favour. It’s you who decide to call me by my first name out of the blue. Shortening it on your own accord, even.”

“O-Oh? Is that so?” Now that he thought about it, he did start calling Fushimi as Saruhiko naturally without realizing. “Eh, but you’re fine with it, right?”

“…It’s okay if it’s you, I guess.”

Yata was about to reply when Fushimi turned his head sideways back and stared straight into his eyes, just that, and something in his chest knotted as a weird fluttering feeling flickered all over it. With Fushimi’s face so close, he could see the rarely softened blue eyes that might as well make the autumn sky envy, the genuinely contented smile that no one else but him could be granted to witness. Yata instinctively took a sharp whiff – it was suddenly very difficult to breathe too – and regretted in an instant, for the scent flowing into him was turning him hot with a sudden blood rush and making him tremble with excitement. It was an alluring bittersweet aroma, like that of a rich dark chocolate sauce, with a hint of freshness that was close to soil and just a little bit of sweat. He vaguely noticed that the scent was oddly strong for an omega, but paying it no mind in favour of sucking in another delicious lungful. For a moment, he was so confused as to why he reacted this way toward his best friend’s seldom seen smiling face, toward Fushimi’s should-be-familiar scent. There must be something wrong with his mind.

Yata’s train of thoughts was cut off when Fushimi stood up and used the tip of the shoe to nudge him in the side. “Let go back. The clouds look like it’s going to rain.”

“Oh-uh, right. Okay. I’m up.” He jumped, glad for the distraction.

_What was that…Seriously…_

Yata mused over the bizarre fleeting sensation in the morning for the rest of the study time and all the way through the detention. It was lucky that Fushimi had fell asleep for most of the afternoon so he managed to avoid the awkward atmosphere.

It did rain, just a drizzling rain, when the detention was over. The earthy smell brought a blush to his face, and he felt embarrassed and guilty for no reason.

Fushimi was still sleeping, hands folding under his peaceful face, eyelids fluttering tenderly to imply that a nice dream was going on behind these closed curtains. The sight was so placid that Yata almost didn’t want to wake the sleeping boy up, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Come on, wake up Saru. Time to go home.” He shook Fushimi’s shoulder gently. “It’s getting pretty late.”

Fushimi gave a quiet, sleepy whine and slowly straightened up, eyes still hazed and movements sluggish. After a brief look at the window, Fushimi nodded at him.

“Good evening, Misaki.”

That single sentence was like a bullet shooting right through Yata, so much worse than what had happened on the rooftop. The pain was real. His rib cage tightened until it felt like it was about to break.

“…Don’t…say that. Don’t say that! DON’T SAY THAT! Don’t you dare play with me like THAT! ” He grabbed Fushimi’s collar, shaking the taller boy roughly and shouting with utter desperation. “Say something else right now! Anything!”

“I told you, relax, me saying these words won’t change anything. You said it yourself a while ago. I can’t be your soulmate, no matter what.” Completely calm in contrast to his fury, Fushimi whispered back in a low, amused voice. Yata startled when his left hand was lowered down and was turned upward to expose the short sentence on his wrist. Fushimi’s slender fingers traced a gentle line under every single letter and despite everything, Yata found himself shuddering as his breath was caught painfully even before it reached his throat. “So “good evening, Misaki” probably wouldn’t be my last words to you, don’t you think so?”

“B-But still…” Yata read over the birthmark like he had done a million times in his young life, nothing changed but somehow, it felt like this was the very first moment he saw it. “I don’t want to hear it from anyone _.” Especially from you._

“Good evening, Misaki. I’ll say it whenever the hell I want to.” Fushimi grunted insistently, holding his wrist and pulling him out of the class. As a second thought, he added. “It isn’t like you to be afraid of such a meaningless thing.”

“I’m not afraid. And…and people who have the first words as birthmark like you just have it easy! You will know who your soulmate is right away and never have a constant doubt like me!” Yata yelled, water starting to gather at the corner of his eyes. “I can only know who they are when I lost them!”

“That’s right. It’s either boring, or stupid.”

It was all Fushimi had to say, apparently, as Yata was pulled again and they walked the way back in silence. He wanted to say more, to find a way to stop Fushimi from saying that goddamned line as he so easily stated, yet he couldn’t mutter a word out. Already, he felt himself getting a little bit braver.

“…Misaki.”

He took a deep breath, then smiled. “Fine. But it’s still an embarrassing name so you can only call me that when we’re alone, Saru.”

 

**E is for Enrapturement**

Fushimi found it hard to get used to this kind of living. Even though Misaki repeatedly told him that “This is how normal people live, you dumbass”, he just couldn’t get the hang of it.

It had started with something small. Like when they had just moved into the apartment, the first thing Misaki had done was to put their game consoles, some potato chips and a huge bottle of coke on the table and had demanded a celebration. They had played for hours until both accidentally had fell asleep on the floor. In the morning, the game had still been on, and nobody had been there to crush it.

He had been on edge for a while - had constantly forgotten that there was another person inside the room. After waking up, he’d be delightedly surprised to see Misaki’s ungraceful sleeping pose at the bottom bed. Sometimes he’d failed to remember that it was impolite to change his clothes in the presence of someone else (and had received several pillows on the face for his behaviour), and a nice wrapped dish in the fridge had managed to stun him every time, especially at the dead of night when he'd been too hungry to think straight.

Simple greetings were, to Fushimi’s surprise, actually a fraction of life. As a matter of fact, he didn’t know that there was a standard response to “Thank you”, or people should say “Thank for the meal” before eating food made by others, or something like leaving a message was necessary if he came home too late.

The first time Misaki had come back later than him, he'd been dumbfounded when the former had shouted “I’m home!” at the entrance. He'd sat there staring blankly at the redhead, couldn’t for the life of him figure out why Misaki had felt the need to say that. After a few seconds Misaki'd pouted at him, complaining “What are you glaring at me for? Aren’t you supposed to say “Welcome home!”, hah?”, and Fushimi'd been so caught off guard that he'd actually blurted out “Am I?”

These things were strange. Complicated. Troublesome. Hard to follow. But…not entirely unpleasant.

He had his favourite moments, as well.

As an unstated rule, Misaki was the one who bought the groceries for both of them, however Fushimi tagged along every now and then. They did it like this: walking side by side on the narrow road to the supermarket, talking about nothing important, snatching whatever meaty stuff that was on sale, and engaging in a silly argument about whether to buy vegetables or carbonated drinks.

“Heck no, you will get some dumb diseases caused by lack of nutrition for sure! Put that back now! We’re going to have curry and this time it’ll definitely have carrot!”  Misaki protested as loud as he could and used his upper body to seal the trolley off, unintentionally drawing unwanted attention from half of the supermarket.

“I don’t like carrot. What’s wrong with drinking one or two bottle of cokes anyway?” Fushimi pried Misaki’s hands away with equal intensity and tried to put the bottles in. “Don’t be so childish, I’m the one who is holding the wallet this time you know.”

The redhead never gave up. “Childish? Me? The only child here is YOU who can’t even eat a simple piece of carrot! Or any kind of vegetables, on that matter! Hey, you said a bottle, why do you take like ten of them out? Hey, stop, Saru!”

“This is of a different brand. And it’s on sale.”

“I can’t believe you! Che, how about this, I will allow you to buy two bottles, but you will eat your share of healthy stuff today, okay?” Misaki put most of the carbonated drinks back, leaving only two bottles in the trolley.

“Why do I need your permission to eat things? I don’t eat what I don’t like, tsk. Carrots taste bad anyway.”

“You may not like it but your body needs it, that’s why!”

“…” Fushimi smirked.

“…What? Your face looks kind of creepy right now.”

“You should hear what you’ve just said, Mi~sa~ki~”

“E-E-Eh, what, tha-that’s not what I meant, Saru y-you pervert, shut up! And don’t say my name like that!!”

“Heh. Virgin.”

In the end, the deal was usually settled with Fushimi managing to bring back some unhealthy food for a snack break and Misaki force-feeding him a spoon full of greenies at dinner. He grumbled but obeyed anyway, because nobody had ever been so persistent, nobody but Misaki had ever cared enough to do so, and to him, it was as enticing as it was unnerving.

And then there was this baffling concept of physical contact. For the record, Fushimi was fairly used to small, friendly touches like fist-bumps, taps on the back, one-arm hugs around the shoulders, and even some hand-holdings. Yet, Misaki could always do something new to surprise him.

In winter, every so often the redhead would sneak in his bed in the middle of night for the extra source of warmth, not at all minding the narrow space that forced them to tangle limps with each other. The truth was, the first night Misaki had done that Fushimi had almost stabbed a pointed pencil in the redhead's eyes out of conditioned reflex and half-asleep confusion. The shocked face of Misaki that time still made Fushimi feel guilty until now.

In summer, he would occasionally get heatstroke. And while he was drowning in his own sweats, eyes burning, mind blurring, there would be a cool palm carefully placed on his forehead. That sensation was mystifying, almost as if he was touched by a ghost, yet it felt more like he was being blessed, in some way.   

Misaki was no teacher, but he had taught Fushimi more things than anyone else.

Before he knew it, his eyes had been fixing on Misaki, his ears had been focusing on every single word from that cute small mouth, his mind had been thinking about what he should do to make the other happy.

And it wasn’t until the moment Misaki suddenly collapsed in P.E with a terrible red face that Fushimi realized he was absolutely captivated.   

“Misaki!” He dashed to the unconscious boy, a storm of feelings swirling inside him, too chaotic to even consider what were there in the mix.

“Stay back, Fushimi!” The P.E teacher shouted. “It looks very bad. I’ll carry Yata to the infirmary.”

_Stupid Misaki. You didn’t recognize the syndromes, did you?_

Not stopping for even a second, Fushimi cut through the circle of people around Misaki who was panting harsh on the floor. He could sense such a strong coat of alpha pheromones hovering in the air, which pushed him further into turbulence.

“No. I’ll bring him back.” He growled, ignoring how out of character that was for him. With a swift tug, Fushimi easily carried Misaki on his back and walked before anyone moved closer. Misaki felt feverish against his palms, he worriedly noted. “Move. Out of my way. Now!”

 “It’s dangerous. Why don’t you let me handle this, okay?" The teacher cautiously approached him, low voice and dark eyes. “You can’t move Yata around recklessly or the situation will get worse.”

“Our apartment is near. I’ll take care of Misaki. Nothing can harm him as long as he’s on my back.” He spat out the words like they were poison.

“But you yourself are just an omega! You can’t-“

“I said, get out of my way!”

Hastily he flicked the special GPS program from his PDA that could track deserted routes – just a simple app he had made a while ago out of boredom. A weak grasp at his arm and a pained whimper buried in his nape were all Fushimi needed to stamp out of the yard, firmly keeping Misaki balanced and scaring off whoever dared to come near.  _What a pain. “Omega, just an omega” my ass. Shut up. Fuck that._ Like hell he would leave Misaki with a bunch of stupid, worthless, narrow-minded people like those!

“…Saru?” His ears twitched when coming in close contact with Misaki’s ragged breaths. “What…what’s wrong w-with me? I feel…weird.”

“How dumb are you? Isn’t it obvious?” Fushimi clicked his tongue, trying to ignore the bitter taste of annoyance. “You’re getting your first heat, idiot.”

“What?”

“Do you seriously know nothing about it? You’re an omega too, for fuck’s sake! Even if you didn’t pay attention in health class, you should do some damn research.”

“U-uhm…” Misaki tightened the grip on Fushimi’s shirt and let out a startled moan, apparently affected quite bad by the abrupt echoes of sounds. “Sorry.”

The moan shocked Fushimi into a halt – all of a sudden, he was hyper aware of what Misaki’s hot skin implied and noticed for the first time that there was something poking him in the lower back. On cue, his nose picked up the strong pheromones-filled scent pervading from Misaki’s sweating body. Tilting his head back, with mouth half open and eyes closed, he drank in the aroma slowly, carefully, as if to avoid being drowned in it. Fushimi was no poet, he couldn’t find the right words to describe this smell, not that he cared much for odors’ names in the first place anyway, but if he had to associate it to something he’d settle down with _“sunny”._ The thread of that warm scent played with his heart oh so mercilessly, yet he couldn’t help but to hold it tight and pull it even deeper inside him.

As it turned out, Fushimi wasn’t the only one who was acting odd. He thought the wet sensation at his nape was just his wishful imagination, but no, it really was Misaki mouthing softly at the sensitive skin there.

“What are you doing, Misaki!?” He jerked in bewilderment, unintentionally triggering another moan from the flushed boy. The sound sent a strange pricking feeling under his skin and raised a faint blush on his cheeks.

Misaki kept placing feather kisses and sniffling desperately along his neck. “I-I don’t know, it’s just – I mean, you smell really g-good… it calms me down a bit.”

Feeling giddy after that statement, Fushimi clamped his mouth shut and let the shorter boy continue for the rest of the walk. The journey home wasn’t that long, still the base of his neck was tingled and marked all over by the time they got to the apartment.

It took a great force to pry Misaki off his back, even a greater will to resist that adorable pouty face, but he managed to set the redhead down the bed safely. After a moment of hesitation, Fushimi fished his PDA out and started searching for whatever information related to taking care of an omega in heat. He talked big, though he had no idea how this worked either. He hadn’t had his first heat yet.

“Saruhiko…?”

“Bear with it a little more.” Fushimi skimmed through several helpful instructive websites. “Hm. According to this article, I should buy you plenty of food, drink and some suppressants, change your clothes frequently and bring you something reek of alpha pheromones or a sex toy.”

“W-W-What the heck! Saru! Shut up! That’s o-out of question!”

“Which part?”

Misaki groaned, hiding under the blanket in order to dodge the embarrassment. Patting the hidden figure with a fond smile, Fushimi processed to list the necessary things that he should buy for Misaki’s sake.

“How’re you feeling now?”

“…Hot…weird. A-A little painful too…I feel really restless, and…and....”

“Should I leave you alone for a bit?” The implication was clear. Or so he thought.

Misaki poked out of the blanket, staring at him with such teary hurtful eyes that Fushimi almost felt guilty.

“I need to buy something. Besides, I think you would like some moments of…much needed privacy.” He cast a very meaningful glance downward, gaining satisfaction when Misaki’s face burnt impossibly red as understanding clicked into place.

“Oh god, just fucking go already!”

Fushimi was about to go when he realized that his nape must be full of hickeys. While he didn’t mind the marks much, an evil thought popped up in his head.

“I can’t dig a random thing with alpha’s smell out of nowhere, though. You will have to make do with this.” Smirking not so subtly, Fushimi took off his vest and undid the buttons on his shirt, fully enjoyed Misaki’s shaky hazel eyes on him. “It’s an omega’s scent, but a familiar scent is better than nothing anyway. You did say my smell calm you down, didn’t you?”

After a few seconds of what seemed like a silent debate, Misaki grumbly yanked the shirt out of his hand and immediately scrawled under the sheet again. It was really adorable. Fushimi tried to provoke the redhead again while putting on a high-collar shirt, but received nothing more than a loud whine.

As Fushimi locked the door, he started chuckling to himself. “Misaki is in heat and I’m the one who is taking care of him. I’m protecting Misaki from other alphas. I’m having him get familiar to my scent. Me, and not whoever his lame alpha is.”

The sun was bright outside. It reminded him of Misaki’s fragrance and soft kisses on his neck. His perfect memory re-created these sensations, letting him live these beautiful moments once more time and again, overwhelming him with an unexplainable desire.

Fushimi wished he would get used to this soon.

And, oh, how he _prayed_ it would last.


	2. Love Will Tear Us Apart

**F is for Fire**

The second Yata took the flaming hand of the red king, he knew he belonged. It was almost like he had been waiting for all his short living time for that precise moment.

Yata remembered the first time he had met Mikoto, as clearly as a short film recorded in his mind. Dangerous rockets flying in the air and Saruhiko kneeling on the ground a little behind, he had been terrified, could do nothing but helplessly beg for the red monster to save his best friend from the JUNGLE’s malicious trick. However the monster hadn’t been a monster at all, but a king of miraculous fire, and in the split second when the flaming storm coming down around Saruhiko, Yata had felt something inside him bursting in not only relief but also exhilaration.

Mikoto Suoh was this absolute hero walking straight out of Yata’s wildest dream. Unperturbed, proud and aloof in his mighty throne, yet so blazing, so terrifying in the battlefields - wearing the kingship like a coat of pride - a lion standing at the top of the mountain, a forest fire that couldn’t and wouldn’t be stopped, an existence as powerful as the sun itself.

Yata knew, simply knew, that he had to follow this man.

Brilliant fires embraced him, coiled into his chest and rested hotly just under his left collarbone. The hand holding his own shook a little as though the king was congratulating him. His chest swelled with pride at the thought of him passing the entrance test this easily.

“Thank you so much, Mikoto-san!” He laughed, loud and joyful.

“Whoaaa~ congratulation, Yata! You’re officially a Homra’s clansman now!” Totsuka clapped, smiling with a very childlike expression. “The fire seems to like you. How nice!”

“I-Is that so? It means I’m a really good candidate, right?”

“You could say so, haha.”

Yata grinned, feeling a tad too proud of himself. Excitedly, he turned to Saruhiko who had been standing against the wall, quietly watching the whole time. There was a vaguely distant look in his friend’s blue eyes, but he didn’t think much of it since Saruhiko always acted a little cold toward strangers. It would soon change, though, after the entrance test was over and both of them would finally find a place to belong.

“Saru! Come on, it’s your turn!”

A frown  wormed itself onto Saruhiko’s face as the lanky boy made his way to the spot right in front of Mikoto. He stood there, glaring at the burning hand without making any movement to take it.

“…Ah?” The red king quirked an eyebrow lazily, not entirely out of curiosity but rather cool boredom.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Yata worriedly asked from the side. There was a teasing whisper of “Scared?” in the background – in a flash, he glared at the source of noise with the angriest glare he could pull off.

The boy in question clicked his tongue, looked at the floor for a few seconds more before going back to stare at the fire. Or to be exact, at the words running around Mikoto’s wrist. “Your soulmate sounds ridiculous. Who the hell says _“Can I call you King?_ ” to someone they’ve just met?”

Mikoto just shrugged and pointed a thumb to Totsuka. “He did.”

“Ehh?” Yata made a surprise face. “Totsuka-san and Mikoto-san are soulmates?”

“Ah yes, yes. We both have birthmarks in the right wrist so we knew right away. See?” Totsuka pulled the long sleeve on his right arm up, revealing alabaster skin engraved with a short, bold word: _Whatever._

That would be great, Yata mused, to know just like that. Nothing to doubt. Nothing to be afraid of. Couples in which both sides had first-words mark was the most peaceful one. One first-words, one last-words was tolerable. And then, the last possibility… He subconsciously rubbed his left wrist against his trouser, only to be reminded that it was already covered by the PDA watch that Saruhiko insisted him to wear.

Yata’s concentration was brought back when Saruhiko suddenly drew a sharp breath and grabbed the king’s hand. In an instant, the fire plunged at the tested boy, somehow seeming much more intimidated than it had just been with Yata. Swirling, thrashing on Saruhiko’s flesh as if it was biting him to pieces, the flame changed its colours constantly – pinkish, crimson, dark orange, garnet - and shapes, too, as it turned from busts to sparks to thin rope-like flares.

Even as Saruhiko tried to remain calm, the pained hiss slipping out his quivering lips was heartbreaking. However, when Yata jumped up, ready to dash in and pull his friend out, a hand gripped his shoulder firmly in place. He heard a calm whisper from Kusanagi yet couldn’t make the words out because his heart was beating too loud and fast from extreme worry. Mikoto looked like he was considering releasing Saruhiko, but decided against it in the end.

“Saruhiko!” He yelled. It certainly caught Saruhiko’s attention as the boy turned his eyes to meet with Yata’s own. There was a fog of uncertainty and discomfort in these icy orbs, but it was gone after a drawn out blink and a shuddered intake. Then, in such a way that took everyone off guard, Saruhiko clenched Mikoto’s hand tightly and used his other hand to push hard into his own chest, just as though he was physically forcing the chaotic fire to obey and get inside him.

And it did. Freezing into sharp pointed, dark red blazes, it pierced into Saruhiko’s heart with such a strong pressure that the dark-haired boy had to stumble backward two steps, and finally disappeared into leftover smoke.

“…It’s hot.” Saruhiko mumbled as he pulled his collar down, showing the Homra insignia at the exact same spot with Yata’s tattoo.

Happiness spread all over Yata, and he felt fresh courage taking hold of him. This was it, he was going to have everything he had ever wanted now. A power. A greater reason to live. A hero to look up to. A family. A place to belong.. And of course, Saruhiko staying by his side.

He laughed. “That was great, Saruhiko! I’m so glad we joined Homra together!” Choruses of laughter and jokes joined him. It was so very joyous and merry that he was engaged in them in no time at all.

Yata didn’t really notice the time until Saruhiko pulled him by the collar and dragged him away without uttering a word. He might have protested a little too childish, but in the end bid Homra’s members goodbye quite reluctantly.

“Man, it sure was fun! Did you see Totsuka-san’s fail attempt at skateboarding trick? He rolled straight to Mikoto-san, haha! The way Mikoto-san caught him was so cool though!”

When he received nothing but silence, Yata tilted his head in confusion. “What’s the matter? You’re awfully quiet today.”

“…Did you take a weird kind of suppressants today?” Saruhiko’s question was off topic to the point Yata had to stop for a few seconds to completely comprehend.

“U-oh, no? My last heat was 3 months ago, so the next won’t come in another full month. Why did you ask that?”

“I don’t know for sure, but” Yata jumped out of his skin when out of the blue Saruhiko’s face came extremely close to his own – just half an inch apart. “Your scent is somewhat different now.”

“Eh? Really?” He tried to smell his arms but couldn’t make out any odd smell. “Is that a bad thing? What’s it like? Che, I can’t smell myself, damn it…”

“Tsk, nevermind.” Despite being the one who brought it up, Saruhiko just shrugged and dropped the topic nonchalantly, though a light frown still rested on his forehead. “At least that man isn’t your alpha.”

 

**G is for Glass**

It was cracking.

Fushimi could hear the crisp sounds and watch as a thin rift getting larger on the glass of water he was holding.

And in the air, too, he thought, eyes drifting to the familiar small figure a little far away. The redhead was blabbing about some stupid feat of arms that Homra had won against some local thugs earlier today. Or any day, really. Misaki had acted like a broken record lately. Always Homra, fighting, Homra, Mikoto-san, pride, comrades, Mikoto-san, Mikoto-san. 0 points. Misaki had been hitting 0 points way too many times.

_So annoying. It’s like Misaki is changing into a stranger._

Wherever he looked, Fushimi saw cracks and flecks of soot. Misaki’s eyes were looking at the wrong way and Misaki’s smile was directing at the wrong people. The way Misaki fought was wrong and the way Misaki talked was wrong. Wrongness was there, in Misaki’s expression, in Misaki’s scent, and in Misaki’s very heart. Wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

Nothing was right anymore, suddenly everything ought to be different. He gritted his teeth, hands tightening unconsciously. A bad habit, formed when he had been much younger. One that he thought he had grown out of since he had lived together with Misaki.

“Fushimi!”

Before he comprehended enough what was happening, Kusanagi had yanked the glass of water out of his hand – No, actually, when Fushimi finally had a good look downward, it was actually his hand that had been jerked away from the shattered glass. Water spilled over the counter, prettified by drops of blood and gleaming broken shards, and for a second it looked like a tiny, beautiful red lotus pond.

“What do you think you are doing, Fushimi?” Kusanagi scolded him, all the while dragged him away from the mess. “You need to be more careful!”

“Sorry…” Fushimi murmured, avoiding the bartender’s eyes. “…for breaking your glass.” At the same time, Misaki ran to him at full speed, all the way across the room.

“Forget the glass, it’s your well-being that the most important thing. Come on, Yata-chan. Treat his hand here before it gets infected. I’ll clean the counter.” With a reassuring smile, Kusanagi meaningfully raised a small box of first-aid to Misaki. This man must have noticed the uncomfortable stare Fushimi was silently giving. Tsk, playing nice house over and over.

He almost curled his injured fingers again, but Misaki was beside him in a flash and grasped his hand. Worry was evident on the shorter boy’s scowling face – maybe a hint of anger, too - for some odd reasons, it sent a satisfying chill run along his backbone.

“Yep, fucking wrong thing to apologize for, dumbass.” Misaki hit him at the back of his head before pressing a band-aid on his bleeding fingers. “You should say sorry for hurting yourself over a stupid cup like a careless little kid.”

Oh. There it was. In Misaki’s unwavering hazel eyes, his figure was reflected so flawlessly. It was as if Misaki was telling him “Hey, you are, in fact, alive”. It never failed to make Fushimi smile. _That’s right. That’s the correct way._ _Look at me._

_You’re the only one who is able to look at the real Fushimi Saruhiko. So don’t look away._

“…100 points.”

“What the fuck?”

“Nothing important, Misaki~ Your muddy head won’t get it anyway.”

 “Oi! You wanna fight? And I told you not to call me by that name!”

“Why? You were fine until several months ago.”

“It’s embarrassing, okay? What if the other guys begin to mimic you? Even worse, do you know how embarrassing it would be if the enemies start to yell that fucking girly name in the battlefield? Che, that’d be a nightmare! Just stop with the name already!”

“…Since when have your problem been all about “girly name”?”

“What do you mean? Since always?”

Fushimi thought he heard another crackle in the air, but it must be his imagination.

_0 points._

**H is for Haze**

“You shouldn’t go today.”

Saruhiko’s quiet, flat voice was hard to catch, so for a moment Yata had to double-check that he hadn’t just made the sounds up in his head.

“What was that?”

Mophead poking out of the blanket on the top bed, upside down, Saruhiko narrowed his eyes at Yata a bit before muttering in a tone that suggested that the guy was really irritated, for whatever reason.

“Stay. I won’t go to the bar, either.”

“No way.” He frowned. “I promised Totsuka-san and Kusanagi-san to help them with cooking today. You should go, too, actually. We are going to make Takoyaki. You like it, right? If you want I can make it a little mild-favoured to suit your tas-”

“No.” With that said, curt and cold, Saruhiko retreated into the safe cave of blankets.

 _What’s with that attitude…He’s pissing me off._ Scowling, Yata continued his task of checking the ingredients that Kusanagi had asked him to bring. Lately, hanging out with Saruhiko had been a real pain – it was almost impossible to pull him along anywhere if the guy didn’t want to. They didn’t have much time to talk now either, and when they did, Saruhiko often seemed to not really pay attention or replied with such an annoying deadpan voice.

Maybe Saruhiko needed space or something…puberty and whatnot. If so, it should be better to just leave him alone for a while, Yata concluded, thing might work itself out in the end.

“Fine, lie there and rot all you want. I’m going ahead.”

Nothing but a very faint grunt came from the top bed. Taking it as a rude goodbye, Yata kicked the door open and left without further comments.

The first thing he noticed after setting a foot in Homra’s bar was some huge bamboo branches standing neatly at the left corner of the counter. Next to them was Anna who was writing something on a neatly handmade card, with Totsuka’s back as a human table. On the couch, Mikoto was smoking and watching the former duo with a cool, detached manner. Oh - he almost forgot it was Tanabata.

“Oh, good timing, Yata-chan. Do you bring what I told you?” Kusanagi waved him from behind the counter. “We can make takoyaki before enjoying the Tanabata festival together with everyone.”

“They’re here! Flour, eggs, onions…hm?, ah, here, seaweed, soy sauce. Yup, I don’t forget anything.” Yata put all the bags into the bartender’s waiting hands, and was about to enter the kitchen when Anna tugged at his shirt.

“Saruhiko.” The young strain looked straight at him, monotone and doll-like face as always, yet there was something vaguely hinted that she knew something he didn’t, and the way she spoke of the name ended more like an answer than a question. But Anna had always been hard to understand, nevertheless.

“Eh, Saruhiko? He doesn’t want to come – I swear that guy is turning into a hermit of some sorts. He didn’t even get out of the bed this morning.”

“Heh~ Does Fushimi feel unwell?” Totsuka poked his head in, hands still cutting some cute-looking cards – must be for the wish writing session.

Yata shrugged. “Nah, he probably just feels too lazy for the day. It happens all the time. Anyway, let’s begin cooking! I’m hungry!”

Takoyaki was easy to make, and after an hour it turned into a weird competition of making all kinds of personal preferred flavours. Kusanagi made mostly standard takoyaki but there was a small portion made from slightly more luxurious ingredients. Anna stuffed as many red things in her takoyaki as possible, with a tad too much sauce. Meanwhile, Totsuka’s takoyaki was all over the place – as in a “Russian roulette” way, ranging from disgustingly sweet to tongue burning spicy. Bless whoever the poor souls had to eat them.

Mikoto didn’t even bother to make the food the normal way. After being pushed and poked by Totsuka (with the help of Anna’s puppy eyes), the red king just kind of stood up, gathered things into a fist and burnt it until it turned vaguely cooked.

“T-That was so cool!” But well, he wouldn’t dare to eat that.

“You forgot the salt and the scallion, Yata-chan. Also, your sauce looks funny…”

“Oh it’s alright. These are for Saru. That guy seriously is the pickiest eater I’ve ever seen, for god’s sake.”

Before long, all of Homra’s members showed up, adding their own versions of Takoyaki. When lunch time came the bar was already packed with people and tons of food. It was really fun.

“So, since today is Tanabata, let’s write wishes and hang them on the bamboo branches!”

“Good idea, Totsuka-san! I’ll go first.” Yelling loudly, Yata snatched the nearest card and wrote down feverishly. “I wish Mikoto-san would always be the best king and Homra would always be the best clan ever. There, done!”

“So spirited, Yata-san!” Kamamoto laughed. “Uhm hum, I’m done writing too.”

“What the heck, fatass? Did you just write “I wish I could eat Takoyaki every day”?

“My wish is “I wish all the girls like me!”

“Shut up Chitose. Why couldn’t you write something decent for one chance? Look at mine: “I wish I would have 6-pack abs”. Way cooler.”

“But Bandou…that’s not really a cool wish…”

“What did you write, Anna-chan?”

“I wish…I could see more pretty reds.”

“Mikoto-san! You haven’t written anything yet! What’s your wish? I really want to know!”

“…sleep?”

“Haha, King, that’s not even a wish.”

Yata tilted his head to look at Kusanagi’s card, too carried away by the happy mood to care about privacy. In a nice cursive style, the card read: “She is the right one.”

“O-OH! You found your soulmate?”

“I hope so.” The blond bartender smiled calmly, waving his left wrist for Yata to see, even though he had seen it too many times now. The birthmark there was a meaningful simple sentence: I’m glad.

“Why do you think that girl is your soulmate?” The whole gang had noticed the juicy gossip and circled around Kusanagi with sparkling foxy eyes. “Does she have first-words birthmark? How did you two meet? Is she beautiful?”

“Easy, boys. Unfortunately, she has last-words mark so we never know for sure. But she’s a beta too, and we have this…weird dynamic, so I figure we have a chance.”

“…What does her mark say?”

“That’s the curious part.” Smiling tenderly, Kusanagi hung his card on the bamboo branch, eyes soft and wishful. “I’m happy. That’s what it says.”

 “I’m glad” and “I’m happy”. Both were last words of them to each other. That was like an eternal vow, an unyielding promise of a happy life, an ultimate confession of love even at their last breath.

“Sounds nice. I wish mine is that positive...” Yata rubbed his arm, still not quite grew out of habit. Stupid marks and stupid rules. “Guess my soulmate isn’t as nice as yours.”

“Actually, at first I thought you and that gloomy Fushimi were an item.” Dewa chimed in. “You two sure act like soulmate most of the time. He is the only one who calls you by your first name, even.”

“W-Woah, we do not! And he just does whatever he pleases! Besides, it’s not like we can be soulmate, right? We’re both…omegas.” Yata’s voice got smaller and smaller toward the end of the sentence without him realizing. Though he didn’t know why, whenever he thought of that fact, he felt a faint sting right above his heart – where his insignia was. “Alphas and Omegas only belong to each other, and Betas find the other half as Betas. Aren’t them the absolute laws of the universe or something? The soulmate thing works on these laws first, anyway.”

Silence fell on the room, heavy and strained. Everyone either looked at their own wrist with a melancholy face or absentmindedly scratched their nape. It came down to Yata that yes, it wasn’t only him who thought all these things were fucking stupid.

Totsuka was the first one to smile and break the silence.

“Talking about Fushimi, he didn’t come but we should hang a wish for him too! What would Fushimi wish for, I wonder?”

Mikoto shrugged. “More sleep time?”  

“King…I agree though, Fushimi definitely could use a better sleeping schedule.”

“How about the capability of eating vegetables?”

“Kusanagi-san, that’s _your_ wish, and to be honest mine too, but no way Saru gonna wish that.”

“That’s true.”

“Well I’ll just write his name under my wish card! He’ll certainly have the same wish as me anyway!”

“…No, you shouldn’t do that.”

Drumming his fingers on the table, Yata turned the PDA watch on. It’d be much faster if they asked the person in question himself. However, much to his surprise, the PDA kept ringing until it was disconnected – Saruhiko didn’t pick the call up.

“That’s weird…Saru often answers on the second ring.” He tried again, listening to the long beeping sounds. “He still hasn’t picked up.”

Just as Yata hit call for the third time, Mikoto suddenly walked right behind him and held his head in one hand, face incredibly close to his neck.

“M-M-Mikot-to-san?!!?”

“…There’re active omega pheromones in the weak metallic scent clinging to you.”

Yata paled at once. _It can’t be…_

“Now that I think about it…” Totsuka rubbed his chin. “Have Fushimi had his first heat yet?”

“I-I have to go back! Bye! Ah - thank you Mikoto-san!”

Haste, almost frantic, he sprang out of the bar without a second delay. He didn’t catch on any change of scent or symptoms of heat from Saruhiko. Guilt crept into his heart – Saruhiko had even said _“You shouldn’t go today”_ this morning… But that was fucking vague! That guy really didn’t change at all!

Gritting his teeth, Yata kicked the skateboard harder, willing to risk his life a little bit just to get home a few minutes sooner. It was mid-afternoon now, which meant he had left Saruhiko suffering the first heat alone for half a day. Damn, whenever he experienced the heat it was painful and irritating even with Saruhiko taking care of him every minute. Furthermore, Saruhiko was an unusual late bloomer – getting the first heat at 16 was considered really unhealthy – which almost confirmed that the omega’s heat would be terribly hellish.

_You idiotic monkey. You had better not done anything drastic._

Yata called again and again, but the line wasn’t connected. It was starting to push him on the edge. The melting hot weather didn’t help one bit. His eyes felt blurred and his mind got hazy. Still, he kept dashing forward faster, and faster.

The door was open, Yata noticed with a worried scowl, it was exactly the same as when he left in the morning. That was extremely dangerous. What if a strange alpha came in, lured by the active omega’s smell?

“Saruhiko!”

He looked around in panic. Saruhiko wasn’t anywhere in the main room. Forcing his mind to not automatically jump to the worst scenario, Yata ran to the bathroom and prayed that behind the closed door was his troubled friend.

“SARU! ARE YOU INSIDE? Hey, can I open the door?”

No answer. Yata turned the lock in desperation. It was jammed due to old age so he kicked it down after trying for five seconds. Hurry, hurry, Saruhi-

Saruhiko was indeed in the bathtub. Pale, wet, and lifeless, like a soaked rag doll. His head stooped low just above the water level, naked body trembled in waves, arms hugged around curling up knees.  

“What the fuck are you doing!?”

At his furious scream, Saruhiko looked up slowly with such dull darkened eyes that Yata almost thought he was too late. No light was lit in these eyes - just a ghastly mist wrapping all over.

“Good evening, Misaki.” Saruhiko’s voice was faint. Too faint, too hoarse, too weak, not even loud enough to be called a whisper. And that greeting…

“I told you to never say that. It’s not even evening yet. Ugh, nevermind.” Taking a deep breath, Yata bent down in attempt to pull the younger boy out of the bathtub, however Saruhiko felt like unmovable deadweight under his hands. “Come one, get up! Fuck, your skin is really cold to the touch! What the heck are you even doing? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

His complaints fell on deaf ears, as Saruhiko’s gaze was still lost in an eerie haze. “Is the convenience store that far?”

“Hah? Are you delirious?”

A dripping wet finger traced lightly along his jaw up to the ear lap, leaving a trail of cold drops there. “Your hearing has been getting worse, Misaki.”

Yata couldn’t comprehend what was happening. He didn’t have the chance, though, because all of a sudden Saruhiko yanked him forward harshly by the arm, making him tumble down the tub and splashing water everywhere.

And the water was fucking _freezing._

“No way…how long have you been sitting in this goddamned tub, dumbass? Just…just what are you thinking!? A heat often lasts 3 days and you have to pull this shit on the very first day!”

“Burning.” Saruhiko winded his arms around Yata’s neck, pulling him closer. For the first time since Yata had come into the bathroom, he was fully aware that the taller boy was completely naked. “It’s burning, gross, and painful, and I feel thirsty. Then, the water dulls the aches.”

“Saru…you moron. You should tell me! Call me, whatever! Why do you do this to yourself?”

Hazy eyes and absentminded smile, Saruhiko cast a glance at nothing in particular before answering. “But I did.”

_“Stay.” Saruhiko. Poking out under the blanket. Upside down. “I won’t go to the bar either.”_

“I-I didn’t understand! That was so not clear!!” _Except it was, for someone as dishonest as this guy, at least._ “Anyway, I’m back now so I’ll take proper care of you. Now, UP!”

Yata tried to stand and forced the other boy to get out, but failed horribly. If anything, he was the one who was pinned against the tub’s wall, unable to move more than an inch. Saruhiko’s slender body acted like an anchor, keeping him still in the water with a strength that no one would expect from an omega in heat.

“Bond with me.” The words spilling out of Saruhiko was so startling that Yata shocked into stillness without realizing.

“Saru…that’s…that’s the heat talking. We just can’t, you know?” Blood rushed to his face when Yata noticed there were hands wandering on his body without permission. Despite saying all that, the idea of Saruhiko and him having an intimate bond was both embarrassing and temping, somehow.

Maybe the haze was screwing with his mind, too.

“I know.” A tired smile fleeted on Saruhiko’s pale lips. “I don’t care.” And then, a sloppy, almost desperate kiss was placed on Yata’s shoulder. “For now…just help me…make this gross feeling disappear.”

Yata felt his cheeks burning with an intense blush as he stared at the other omega, hoping that he was just taking things wrong and this wasn’t happening right now. No such luck, though, because Saruhiko really was placing open-mouthed kisses all over his collarbones, his neck, his chest, and pressed up against him with sinfully alluring motions. God – for him to be this affected even though he was just an omega… _what would a real alpha do…_

“Saru, okay, just – you -“

As abrupt as the attack had started, it stopped right at the moment Yata was ready to give in. Annoyed, Yata looked down to see what had caused the other to stop, only to meet with a wrathful scowl and a livid glare pointing straight at him.

“Uhm.” Yata swallowed thickly, feeling a little scared despite his bravado. “What’s wrong?”

Out of concern, he began to rub small soothing circles on Saruhiko’s back. It lasted for a mere five seconds before his hands were thrown off violently. Hurt. Saruhiko had never rejected his touch that harsh.

“You reek of them.”

Yata’s breath hitched. “Of what?”  

Slowly, the tips of Saruhiko’s lips dragged up into a scornful smirk, misty blue eyes glazed once more. He looked like an entirely different person – a tired soldier who didn’t know why he was sent to war, an old doctor in an asylum who had to question his sanity everyday, a helpless boy who was forced to do a very difficult exam without even knowing what the questions were demanding.

“Of Homra. Of that man. Misaki, you really are an idiot, aren’t you?” Yata’s body gave a jerk when he was pushed down low abruptly, head just above the water. It was as if Saruhiko was trying to drown him, but at the same time fighting everything to not act on it.  “Alcohol, tobacco, street dust and that man’s fire, and tons of alphas’ disgusting smells. These worthless odors are overwriting your scent, Misaki, you’re not just simply _“sunny_ ” anymore, Misaki, Misaki…You’re burning me, Misaki.”

Couldn’t bear to listen to the half-crazed rambling any longer, Yata used all his strength to roll Saruhiko over, spattering half of the water out of the bathtub. He didn’t know what he was doing, or what he should do – rational thought was never his strong suit - now, all he did was purely out of instinct.

That was a terrible excuse to kiss his best friend square on the mouth, though.

Saruhiko’s reaction was immediate and electrifying. He clung on Yata like a shadow, fingernails digging deep into the flesh, groaned low and kissed back with surprising fervor. Stunned by the hasty response, Yata couldn’t help but crack his lips apart to let a moan escape, which allowed Saruhiko to slip hot a tongue in. Clumsy but passionate, the tip of Saruhiko’s tongue constantly scoured inside Yata’s mouth, rolling and seducing him into a fierce battle. The suffocating heat made him dizzy and covered his eyes with steamy tears, unable to resist the bewitching mix of pain and pleasure.

“S-Saru, wait, uhm…” Yata vaguely noticed that he was pinned flat on his back, cold fiberglass under his heated skin - the water had gone when he didn’t pay attention. Saruhiko was looming over him, kissing him until Yata almost felt like he was breathing air straight from the former’s lungs. He felt Saruhiko sliding a hand into his hair leisurely, playing with the stray locks, and at this point he knew there was no other choice but to simply submit.

When Saruhiko finally ripped himself up and pressed his forehead on Yata’s, murky eyes filled with a burning desire piercing into his very soul, Yata ran a thumb over the other boy’s swollen lips, astonished by their beauty.

“Is…” Saruhiko’s voice was raspy. Tremble, just slightly, and breathy. “Is this okay?”

This time, Yata was the one who pulled the other down by the nape, licking his lips and whispering a hoarse “Yeah. Kiss me.”

If Yata stopped to think for just a second, he would find this odd. Wrong, even, for doing this kind of things to an omega, someone else’s soulmate. It was unnatural. Cheating, if he stretched it a bit. They couldn’t have a relationship, for no children could be produced no matter how many times they have fertility sessions. There were two alphas out there, waiting for them. It was destiny. The undeniable rules.

 But Saruhiko’s cool, slender body moving against him felt so good, tongue sweeping on his lips sparked electrics along his spine, and the deft fingers working on his soaked clothes sent him to wonderland, so he stopped thinking all together. Wrong, right, should, shouldn’t, alphas, omegas, soulmates, nothing mattered.

“Misaki…” Saruhiko’s hands wormed their way between Yata’s legs, pulling all the obstacles off in one go, and even though the embarrassment was a tad too much Yata raised his hips to help.

Yata took a sharp intake when Saruhiko gave his erection a teasing stroke. It was difficult to keep himself from thrusting up to get more of the delicious frictions, but he didn’t want to risk anything that could possibly ruin this experience. Not knowing what to do, Yata buried his head in Saruhiko’s chest and drew a long breath, firmly believing that he would be warmly greeted by the luscious mixing scent of dark chocolate and rich soil that he had grown so used to.

But it wasn’t there.

Nothing, but a cold, clean smell, like water itself.

It shouldn’t make him feel frightened – after all, Saruhiko had bathed for God knew how long, it was only natural that his scent was washed away – and with the insistent hand job going on, Yata should really forget this matter and enjoy what was done to him. Yet, as the pace quickened and Saruhiko bit his neck so possessively, Yata could not describe the mess of emotions he was going through. Pleased. Confused. Charmed. Unsettled. Pleasured. And terrified.

Despite being so close, Yata had a horrible feeling that the gentle Saruhiko he knew and loved was still lost somewhere in the mist.

_Like hell I will allow that._

Growling deep in his throat, Yata pushed Saruhiko back forcefully, driving the latter half standing up the opposite bathroom’s wall. “Enough about me, you idiot. You’re the one in heat here.”

The gleam of life flickering in Saruhiko’s cloudy eyes was gratified. _I can pull him back. It’ll be fine._

Imitating what he had just experienced and adding some more, Yata rocked against Saruhiko frenziedly, pressed their aching hard lengths together, bent his neck to suck beautiful pink spots on his partner’s chest and collarbones. He felt Saruhiko’s hands wandering on him shamelessly – sliding up and down his sides, joining his busy hands to stroke their cocks, running across his back. Wet noises echoed back loud from the tile walls, it was almost too much and Yata swore he could never use the bathroom normally again.

“N-no, ngh, Misaki, I...” Saruhiko breathed into his ears, with eyes full of liveliness now but still not entirely _there,_ still a little distance away, just slightly out of reach.

Yata wanted to reply, but he only managed to nod curtly, not quite finding enough strength to speak. The pleasure built up until it overflowed, turning his mind blank as he reached his orgasm just a few seconds after Saruhiko.

“Hah, that was – Saru!“

As soon as he released the younger omega, Saruhiko collapsed with a bright red face and painful gasps, not from what they had just done but from an extremely high fever. Within less than a minute, Yata carried the unconscious boy to the bed and processed to dry and change him into new clothes.

“Fucking stupid monkey. That’s what you get when you insist on never taking care of yourself. With that cursed state, I doubt you’ll even remember anything that happened today.”

Perhaps it was for the best. Guilt began to creep into his chest, the kind of guilt when a child had been caught stealing red-handed. He had been certain just a few minutes ago – but now, when he calmed down enough, he couldn’t help but hang his head in shame. But he didn’t regret.  

Even when they had done such a thing, Yata couldn’t shake the nagging doubt that he had missed something important. There was still an invisible, impenetrable wall surrounding around Saruhiko, just like from the time they had first met, and Yata didn’t know just when it was that he had been pushed outside.

“Are you getting into some weird troubles, Saru? You never say anything... But if something happens, you know Mikoto-san, I, and all of Homra have got your back, right?”

He leaned forward to take a lungful of Saruhiko’s scent. Like a frail thread drifting in the air, the unfamiliar aroma he picked up was that of a melancholy autumn rain.

Evening came, and Yata realized that he hadn’t asked Saruhiko what he would wish for.

**I is for Insanity**

Days like these make Fushimi want to dip his head into a sink full of water, let the cool liquid clear his mind and take his breaths away, until it became unbearably painful, until he tasted the slightest brush of death on the dorsum of his nose.

Sometimes, he wanted to walk along a thin high wall, dangled one foot to the side and placed it back like a child playing balance, clinging to a narrow world for his life, and hating the bigger, terrifying world below that he ought to walk on like normal people. If the weather was good, he would even murmur Humpty Dumpty under his breath.

There were nights when sleep heartlessly abandoned him, left him there withering in cold sweats. When the last light was killed, and no sound could struggle through the mudded atmosphere, he witnessed the rise of a long forgotten kingdom, the empire of twisted imaginations existing at the very back of his mind. Monsters lurked in every corner, ghastly shades hovered on the ceiling, anomalous shadows drifted all over the floor, and vivid nightmares waited eagerly to come true. Hands gripping tight on the sheet, Fushimi tried to force the air to fill his lungs, only to feel suffocated. He heard malicious laughter ringing in the air, and the power within in easily yanked him off the reality and tossed him into a noiseless darkness.

Ah, Fushimi laughed hollowly, but these little moments of madness weren’t that much different when he was at Homra, after all.

He didn’t understand what was so great about Homra. If anything, they were acting like a cheap circus, or a terribly dangerous zoo at best. Laughing like idiots while doing nothing but destroying things and playing house, yet calling it _“pride”,_ how arrogant was that?

He didn’t want it. Any of it.

And Misaki just didn’t see.

_How blind can you be? It should be obvious. You should be the first to understand. But you don’t. You don’t, Misaki._

His head hurt.

It felt like that time - midnight, in an unfamiliar park, under the slide, and a stranger had called him a speck of dust.

“You’re making a scary face, Fushimi. Won’t you smile one for a nice picture?” A camera suddenly blocked his vision. Totsuka. Terrible timing, as always.

Fushimi clicked his tongue and looked away. “No.”

“How cold! I haven’t had a decent picture of you ever since I’ve got this camera, which is really odd if I think about it…”

 _Cold? Me?_ Fushimi made a distasteful face. The pot calling the kettle black, how ironic. Someone who could smile like _that,_ calm andeasy and unconcerned, at everything from others’ struggles to his own tragedies, should be the coldest person of all.

“This new habit of yours has lived for a while.” He poured just enough amount of venom in his remark. The underlying questions were clear. When would you get bored of it? When would you abandon it again?

Risking a glance to the other side of the bar, he frowned to see Misaki laughing at something foolish again.

Totsuka smiled, unruffled, even though the man clearly noticed. “It’s not just a mere habit anymore. I feel like I’m the keeper of Homra’s precious memories, so I really hope it does last long.”

Fushimi wanted to say something rude. Like, to have you as a keeper this clan sure had some problems, or whatever along the lines. But he kept quiet in the end, unwilling to speak his mind and expose himself more than what Totsuka had already been able to see through.

It failed, apparently, as Totsuka resumed talking without missing a beat. “I don’t regret the way I’ve been living, though. Because I think having temporary habits is a fun way to live.”

“That’s stupid.” Fushimi glared at the blond man, feeling as if his blood turned into millions of needles and pricked him under the skin in a desperate need to get away, to run off to anywhere but here. All at once, he was too aware of every metal blade pressing tight on his body, and forced himself to swallow the urge to throw several knives at Totsuka’s smiling face.

“Maybe it is. But, as someone says, the world is just full of opportunities. There are so many beautiful sights haven’t been seen, songs haven’t been sung, powers haven’t been discovered, and people haven’t been given a chance to love. To enjoy this incredible world, won’t it be better to learn to treasure the very beautiful meaning of temporary?”

 _Hah. Haha._ The man’s words were so ridiculous that Fushimi had to bite his tongue to prevent the hysterical laugh from escaping.

“That’s the bullshit only people with too much to lose can say. Ahhh, Totsuka-san, you’re weak in power but the truth is you’re the strongest man, aren’t you? You play with everything so uncaringly and cling to only one thing in such a way that is as if you want it to bring the whole world down for you.” Fushimi flashed a mocking smirk. “Picking up and letting go as you wish, that’s your sense of the beauty of temporary things, isn’t it?”

“You are not wrong.” Totsuka gave a small, lonely smile. “But you are not right, either.”

“You have so many things, and you have power over them so you never know what it’s like to have only one single thing in your hands, Totsuka-san. The forgotten things left from your abandoned habits are pitiful, and you have no right to call that treatment fun or beautiful.”  Throwing back a scornful laugh, Fushimi got on his feet. He couldn’t bear to stay any longer. “In fact, your sense of beautiful temporary or whatever is stupid. If it isn’t perfectly permanent, it means absolutely nothing but exhaustion.”

Totsuka’s smile didn’t falter. “The memories I’ve been recording are permanent, in some ways. Perhaps permanency does not need to be for thousands of years or one’s lifetime. Maybe all it needs is a second.”

Fushimi turned toward the door. “You need to read an actual dictionary.”

“Fushimi…then, when you think it’s no longer perfect, what would be easier for you? Let it go, or let go of it?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. The topic had gotten a bit off, but I thought the conversation was about you and your ever changing habits?” Fushimi walked away, back straight, not out of pride but of outrage.

He stopped at the entrance of the bar as though having a second thought. Trying his luck, an offhand excuse he gave to himself, Fushimi called out a name that only he got the access to. But at the same time, the red king and Anna came in – 

“Misaki.”  /  “Mikoto-san!”

_So that’s how it is, huh._

Misaki was laughing and talking and a world away and Suoh was looking down and Totsuka was smiling and Anna was staring and the ghost of Niki was taunting and the crackling sound was getting louder and the fire was scorching and everything, _everything_ was falling apart.

Homra was a mad house and nobody had ever seen anything wrong with it. Even Misaki. Especially Misaki.

Fushimi gritted his teeth and left.

Only one. Was that too greedy a wish? Only one single permanent thing, to keep him believes he could build a world where it wouldn’t be destroyed. How could he even have the luxury to treasure it, to be happy, if all he thought of was how it would inevitably crumble away no matter how carefully he kept it in his hands? He was so very sick of the constant fear, the strained concentration, the restless anxiety, and the tiring endeavor that were needed to hold on a fragile thing. These feelings made him stand on his toes all the times. The tension was unbearable. His fingers fidgeted because he couldn’t focus on anything but the relentlessly rising despair deep in his heart.

Somehow, he was afraid he would eventually do something despicable just to get rid of that agony.

So yes, permanency was a must. There was nothing wrong with his way of thinking. No one would ever understand anyway.

So what?

Fushimi raised a hand to touch idly at his Homra insignia which was turning hot out of the blue. Sometimes it happened. It meant Misaki was near. And angry.

“He follows me for once?” He chuckled. “How cute.”

As if on cue, Misaki jumped down from seemingly nowhere right in front of him, burning skateboard and all. What a flashy show.

“There you are, dumbass Saru! You seriously need to drop that bad attitude of doing whatever the hell you want whenever you want! Walking out of the bar like that just to avoid being given a mission, huh, who do you think you are?”

_…Really, now. That’s the thing you want to talk about? Tedious Misaki. Are you trying to make me hate you?_

Fushimi clicked his tongue, feeling extreme irritation crawling inside. “I’m tired.” _Of you being this dull and stupid._

“O-Oh? Is that so? Did you get sick again? You could just say so…” Misaki’s angry frown melted into a concerned one. See? One-celled organism that wasn’t even able to sense the mocking drawn-out tone in his claim. “So that’s what Anna talked about…”

“Anna?”

Misaki scratched his cheek. “She said something like, “Saruhiko’s red is being drowned” when you had gone, so I got a bit worried… Anyway, you should go back and rest properly or your sickness will get worse! I’ll handle this mission for you, okay?”

With a bright smile, Misaki pushed him toward the way home and bid goodbye, legs on skateboard ready to stroll back to Homra.

_Small missions that you can do by yourself, huh._

A thousand of things that wanted to be said danced on the tip of his tongue. Fushimi didn’t know what they were exactly. Maybe complaints. Maybe explanations. Maybe lies. Maybe pleadings. Maybe accusations. Maybe confessions. But he couldn’t utter a word out. No, because if they were voiced he would be forced to admit that there was something wrong with him after all. And the cracks would become real and it would mean that he was still so very weak and no – No, no more, no more, words were useless anyway.

On the spur of the moment, Fushimi murmured “Good evening, Misaki” under his breath and rubbed his right wrist against the Homra tattoo. Ah. It seemed like he was wrong. He did have something permanent after all.

_Yet they’re all what I do not ever want or need._

Fushimi realized he was indeed a greedy person.

His finger fidgeted.

 

 **J is for** **Jailbreak**

Yata tasted dampness in the winds blowing from the south. A storm was coming. 

He performed a difficult trick on his skateboard, jumping high and spinning a full circle in mid air. It felt good, being able to move with the winds just as if he was blown like a dandelion, scattered but free and fascinating. For a moment when his whole body turned upside down, he had a strange feeling that he was falling from the earth to the sky, through clouds, into blue, defying gravity itself.

He lived for moments like these.

After landing successfully, Yata smiled at the new, younger Homra members. Most of them were alphas and strong betas, however, in term of red power Yata was ahead them for a hundred miles. Out of respect and curiosity, they had insisted on learning all kinds of fighting experience and skateboarding tricks from him. “Yosh! That’s it for today! How do you like my awesome new moves?”

“That was so cool, Yata-san!”

“Hah, thank! By the way, I think it’s going to rain soon. It’s pretty humid.”

“Oh it won’t. The weather forecast said it’ll be dry until tomorrow.” Kamamoto chimed in, beer and fried squids in hands.

“You’re still eating…?”

Today was a rare day that all of Homra gathered together to have fun at the newly opened eco-park. Nothing extravagant, just a simple picnic-like trip in which they were allowed to “be a little rowdy if you really want”, as Kusanagi had reluctantly said. Thus, a lot of mock fights, pranks, street shows and generally wreckful stuff had happened (under supervision, of course), along with a lot of food consuming. The adults, namely Mikoto and Kusanagi, even had a drinking showdown.

Sighing tiredly, Yata flopped down next to a random big tree a little far away from the crowd and startled when he realized Saruhiko was sitting there since God knew when.

“Oh, so you’re here? I hadn’t seen your face for like hours after we came to the park. What the hell are you doing?”

There was no answer so Yata threw an annoyed glance at his best friend. “Saru?”

Saruhiko didn’t look back but continued to stare at the ground with a straight up emotionless face. It happened sometimes. Saruhiko had always had the tendency to get too focused on things that interested him, to the point of losing track of time and surroundings all together. For some reasons, recently Saruhiko had been doing that a lot more - just staring blankly at odd things or even nothing in particular. It was seriously getting scary.

“Che… What are looking at this time?” Forcing the irritation of being ignored down, Yata leaned in closer to get Saruhiko’s point of view. “…Ants?”

Indeed, there was a long wriggling line of black ants right in front of them, which Yata had thoughtlessly walked pass but fortunately hadn’t killed any.

“You’re such a kid, taking interest in a thing like this.” Yata laughed quietly to himself, not wanting to interrupt the younger boy’s trance-like state. Faint rainy smell with a hint of metal wormed its way to his nose, which made Yata’s stomach flutter a tiny bit for no reason. “But your way of expressing it is really freaky, you know.”

Saruhiko still didn’t answer. If anything, he got somewhat paler, stiffer, and a little shakier, somehow. Yata frowned at that, taking it as a hint to leave. Maybe his presence had messed up the ants’ pattern which Saruhiko liked or something. He would never understand this guy’s weird type of OCD.

Half way back, Yata saw something wonderful.

Just a few feet above the Homra’s crowd, little flaming birds were flying, wings dropping beautiful flickers of fire in the air, as if they were ancient gods coming back to life. Then, several fireballs shot up and bloomed into glorious fireworks as the birds flew elegantly around them until they disappeared,

“Totsuka-san! Kusanagi-san!”

Being able to perform a show like that, these two were truly amazing! As expected of Mikoto’s right and left wings!

“Ah, Yata-chan. Tatara said he wanted to me to teach him how to control his power more effectively, but somehow it turned into something uselessly showy.” Kusanagi sighed for dramatic effect, even though his eyes shone with fondness.

“It’s pretty.” Anna gave a tiny, adorable smile.

The flaming birds slowly ceased into smoke, presumably due to Totsuka’s nonexistent stamina. The vassal smiled through small puffs of heavy breaths. “Thank! It’s harder than I thought to create bird-shaped flames…”

“No but really, how on earth can you do that?” Yata asked excitedly.

“It was...” Totsuka paused for a moment, smile faltering just barely noticeable. He tilted his head back a bit to look at the sky, then casted an unreadable gaze at Yata. “Let see, where is Fushimi?”

Puzzled, Yata jerked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the tree he had been with Saruhiko just five minutes ago without looking back. “Well, that antisocial genius guy is having his sweet time watching some ants.”

Half of Homra’s ranks-and-files laughed at his words like it was a damn good joke. Only it wasn’t a joke, so Yata glared at them.

Totsuka nodded slightly. “I’ll tell you a story.” A knowing, faraway smile waltzed on Totsuka’s lips, making him look older than he actually was. “When I was little, I have a small pet bird.”

“Tatara.” Mikoto sighed.

The blonde waved a hand and continued. “I found it at the brink of a forest when it was just a baby bird. It was injured badly, both wings were broken. I brought it home, gave it a name, made it a cage, took good care of it. It got better gradually, and started to sing really nice melodies whenever I played with it.” Totsuka took a deep breath before resuming his story. “But when the bird completely healed, I got swept in some businesses and didn’t play with it as much as before. There were days which I came home to find it singing weakly by itself. And then, one day, when I went to feed the bird, it’d already pecked the cage’s door open and flew away.”

Yata scratched his cheek, feeling sad for both Totsuka and the bird. He was going to offer console when the vassal spoke again with deep, clear tea-like eyes  gazing somewhere around him. “Later, I developed a new habit about bird studying. I found many interesting birds in the forest, each of them had its own beautiful melodies. I came to love birds just like that. Yet before long, I realized I‘d forgotten the name and the singing of the bird I’d rescued before. If it came back to me in that forest some days, I probably didn’t notice it.”

An uneasy feeling nibbled at Yata’s chest. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t like the story one bit. Totsuka’s eyes were searching. What was being searched?

“Why…do you look at me like that?” Gulping loudly, Yata tried his hardest to mumble out. It was strange – Totsuka had told a tale for everyone in Homra, but it felt like it was a private letter for him alone.  

Nothing, but an innocent smile answered his question.

Yata felt Anna coming over and tugging at his shirt, her pure eyes told a tale of everything and nothing at the same time. He didn’t understand – still, the uneasiness was growing insistently.

Kusanagi sighed and put a hand on Yata’s head. “Let’s go back. It’s going to rain.”

“Ah…okay.” As if in a daze, slowly, Yata turned his eyes to the tree a little far away, expecting to see a thin figure sitting there perfectly still like an expensive china doll.

But the tree was alone.

The humid air carried a scent somewhat resembling Saruhiko’s.

His breath hitched. And he felt _angry_ – at what? He wasn’t sure.

 

**K is for King**

Fushimi found the answer to a question he didn’t know he had. His excuse. His escape. His path. All at once, surprisingly.  And way sooner than he thought, even.

It all began with Munakata’s first sentence to him, as the blue king glanced to the pile of his knife holders on the floor with a pleasant expression, even ignored Kusanagi to talk to him.

“My, most impressive, although not in a good way.”

A spark of _something_ spread through his whole body. And he _knew._

(He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel strangely relieved when knowing the context of the words. Damn, it was that simple all along.)

“Are these all?” Munakata said casually, however Fushimi could sense a very slight rise of pitch at the end of the sentence, the way people often did when they noticed they’d accidentally said what they shouldn’t.

“…These are all.” He spoke each word carefully, eyes focusing on every single movement of the opposite person.

It granted him a gleam in the blue king’s eyes. _All right, no doubt.  A king of another clan? Just his luck._

Gripping his right wrist, Fushimi knew it was time to choose. And what a hard decision it was, whether to keep trying harder or give in to destiny’s arms.

But one thing was certain. No alphas, king or not, could be more important than Misaki. Being with Misaki, the world around him began to sparkle with colours. Even if the boy had been becoming so tedious, Misaki was still the Misaki who had pulled him out of the frozen darkness when no one else had ever cared. Soulmate strings got no meaning over that.

And yet.

And yet…

“If the world bores you, why not construct it yourself?” Munakata once said it to him, smiling knowingly. It was irritating, though Fushimi was too surprised to remark. That was the moment he decided it would be fine to follow this man. Not as an obedient omega, but as a valuable soldier. Not as a soulmate, but as a clansman. Because Munakata seemed to _understand,_ in one way or another.

Fushimi traced a finger under every mark on his body - the only things that were permanent. The omega mark. The words. The tattoo. “Maybe.” He whispered, lips curling into a twisted smirk. “May as well.”

Yes. If he wasn’t satisfied with what had been given to him, he just needed to build his own world.

There were more than two choices, Fushimi bitterly thought, as he scratched burning fingers over his insignia and labeled himself as a traitor.  Misaki’s face was concerted in anger and bafflement – and finally, finally Fushimi was reflected in those hazel eyes. Once, he had been the happiest person, being basked in their sunny magic like he was worth everything.

He loved it too much, but it died too fast.

And so he didn’t need it anymore.

A frayed bond that had no hope of ever being mended, he would sever it and replace it with a chain. A thorny, hurtful chain by which he forcefully connected them in the strongest way he had ever known and it should be such a thing like that from the start.

 (This chain would be everlasting. It wouldn’t break because hatred was strong and imperishable – Fushimi knew it first-handed. _You never forget who you hate_. _I never forget that man, after all._ )

_Misaki. I’m a traitor and a coward. But if living as one meant that I could remain a unique existence in your world, I was fine with it._

 “…I’ll kill you, traitor!”

Fushimi forced himself to smile as he trampled on whatever was left of his world. He wasn’t able to do it, though – still too weak, too hesitant, too powerless. So he took a deep breath and pasted that man’s crooked smile on his lips.

It worked too well on Misaki. Anger, hurt, confusion, all of them was spilling out of Misaki like a waterfall. Despite being so cruel, it was beautiful, somehow.

_That’s it. The difference between us is too great, right? How unfair. Within you is nothing but vigorous will and earnest nature, while within myself only flows the blood of that malicious man who isn’t worthy of anything!_

He turned his back against his once partner, walking to his new place to stay with only his shadow for company.

 _One down_.

Later that night, Fushimi sat on the top bunk bed in his Scepter 4 dorm room, back pressing against the wall, and played with his knives even though they cut his fingers countless times. Just like that, throughout the sleepless night, well into the morning.

He saw specks of light like snowflakes dropping from the ceiling. The snows fell down and piled up, enveloping his whole world in a cold, dull whiteness. His memories scattered in this surreal sight, falling down with each snow-like light – beautiful, heart-aching illusions, a trick of eyes, a trick of mind.

He tried so hard to catch them, but they were always just centimeters beyond his reach, and everything slipped right through his fingers like a picture made of smoke. Briefly, he wondered what would be the last thing he held dear in his loose, bloody hands.

Laughing at himself, Fushimi picked up a small knife and carved words on his left wrist. Angry red letters broke open his skin one by one, shot pain through his veins, and burnt a reminder in his mind.

**I’ll kill you, traitor.**

“Ahh…Don’t forget what you said, Misaki.” Gliding a feathered touch over each line of every letter, Fushimi thought about how death wouldn’t be scary at all if Misaki was the last thing he saw.

He rinsed the blood and wrapped wristbands on both his hands, covering the marks of the unwanted reality and the selfishly designed future.

_Two down._

His new PDA rang. Munakata asked for his presence.

He was a blue clansman now. He would have power, resources, along with everything else to be stronger.

“I’m not a speck of dust.” He murmured to the silence of his empty room.

Fushimi turned up the collar of his uniform to hide the mark on his nape and swallowed a pill of heat suppressants before leaving.

_Three down. There, done._

It occurred to him later that his body had become way too scarred for his liking. But that was nothing new. It didn’t matter.

Fushimi wasn’t a king – never wanted to be one. But if he were to build his own kingdom, it would no doubt be a crumbled and merciless place.


	3. It Only Hurts When I'm Breathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm not dead yet.

 

**L is for Lava**

_Red_ _._

The ground was magma. The winds blew hot blades. The sun was crying red tears. The crumble walls were burning out in untamed fires. Weapons and furniture were toppled over, ripped, smashed, incinerated to ashes. Yata saw red everywhere, in between crimson flares and brutal fights, among blood and gunpowder. And he couldn’t help but think about how they reminded him of Saruhiko’s flaming fingers raking over burnt flesh.

It stung. Hot, biting, stabbing. On his skin. Behind his eyes. In his veins.

Grinding his teeth, Yata curled his fingers tightly around his favorite baseball bat, red aura howling in the air, ready to continue the attack.

“Brat, enough.” Suddenly, a low voice, accompanied by a large hand placing upon his shoulder, stopped him on the track. “You’re burning yourself.”

_So that’s why the whole world is red._

“Mikoto-san…” Yata swept a quick glance around, taking in the ongoing chaotic battle. People threw themselves into the fight, enthusiastically, fiercely, one side for pride and the other for greed. “But there’re still some trashes left.”

The red King just sighed and pushed Yata backward. After some stumbling steps, the redhead bumped into Kusanagi, who was wearing a somewhat thoughtful expression.

“That’s it for today, Yata-chan, you’re wounded. Let's go back with Anna. Mikoto and Totsuka can handle the rest.”

Yata took a deep breath, suddenly aware of all the aches and hurtful pangs on his body.  His hands were blackened a little by his own fire. Dark bruises popped up everywhere.There was a shallow yet long cut on his back, dripping blood.

…His back had never been injured. _Until now, that is._

“Uhm.” He bit the tip of his tongue in order to choke back a cry. Hurt, but not the wounds. “Okay.”

Yata walked with his face looking down at the ground, each step became heavier than the last. He wasn’t certain if it was from the after effect of fighting or from the mess of his emotions, somehow he felt like a storm at midnight with the way his heart crumbled and rampaged at the same time. Why had he felt like this? He shouldn’t have felt like this.

“Yata-chan, you’ve passed the bar.” Kusanagi’s voice reached his ears, however, he could barely make out the meaning of the words. Anna, forever the attentive girl, calmly took Yata by the hand and guided him back, insisted on him resting on the couch.

It didn’t feel real, somehow, when Kusanagi put antiseptic on his injuries. Yata had a weird dejà vu - a similar scene, but the hands treating his wounds had been much smaller, and there had been many complaints in an annoyed but, still, concerned voice pouring right into his ears.

Yata shook his head, telling himself to think of something else. Anything else.

“Kusanagi-san… Why did Homra’s fire burn me? It had never happened before.” He said, head hanging low. “What’s wrong with me?”

He sensed the bartender’s fingers came to a short pause. They resumed working on the cut on Yata’s back after a heavy sigh, as Kusanagi struggled to find the right words to say. “You’re uncertain, that’s why the fire lashed out at you. It feeds on doubts.”

It sounded almost like an accusation, in some ways Yata hadn’t figured out why yet. “What’s up with that? I don’t have any doubt whatsoever.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Sighing again, Kusanagi pressed the sterilized cotton a little too hard than necessary. “Do you know why Totsuka never gets burnt?”

“Argh, don’t do that again! E-Er, why, you asked?  Isn’t it because Totsuka-san is a great clansman?”

Anna, who had been quiet the whole time, grabbed Yata’s shirt lightly with the intent to make him shift his focus. “Tatara is never uncertain. About himself, about Mikoto. Misaki, your red is dyed in doubts, so it confuses you for an enemy.”

Yata bit his lips, trying to run away from the predictable change of topic. “Whatever, I’ll find a way to fix it sooner or later anyway. Thank you Kusanagi-san, I think I’m all good now. Can I go home early today?”

No use. Such a thing couldn’t pass the all-knowing eyes of these two.

“He must have his reasons, Yata-chan.”

Growling loudly, Yata let his head fall hard against the back of the couch. Red, red, angry red. And there was poison on the tip of his tongue.

“Damn all the smartasses and their so-called reasons! He betrayed us and went to the blue dogs like Homra meant nothing to him at all! I thought he was better than that, I thought – I thought we could do great things together…I don’t get it… W-Why?”

“The view of the world.” Anna said, quietly but firmly, “Yours and Saruhiko’s are too different despite being so similar. It’s like two sides of the same coin.”

“Hah?”

“What Anna wants to say is,” Kusanagi took the matter of explanation into his hands, “every person sees the world differently according to their own mind. People with synesthesia see the world in a very sensory way. Color-blind people like Anna see the world in shades of gray. I see it as an all-flavoured multi-layers cocktail. Mikoto probably sees it as bomb triggers. What about you, Yata-chan? How do you view the world?”

Yata blinked. It was hard to find something to say. He wasn't used to such a complicated and abstract subject. He had always been an airhead, just as everyone often confirmed. He had never thought about it, since after all thinking was Saruhiko’s job, not his.

“I don’t really understand…” Yata mumbled, at last. “But, carrying the pride of Homra, being together with everyone and with Saruhiko too… means the world to me.”

“Then, how do you think Fushimi’s world would be like?”

There had been a time when Yata could answer that question. But now, he thought of nothing but the throbbing pain from his back and the black spots on his hands – ah, such painful reminders.

“I don’t know.”

_I should have known._

_But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?_

Anna gently touched his fingers, saying nothing yet always understanding everything. It wasn’t enough to put him at ease, though. Not even close to “enough”.

“World’s view or whatever, he is nothing but a goddamned traitor. That’s that.” Yata stood up slowly, fighting back the dizziness. No one voiced any objection this time, only sympathetic eyes followed him closely until he was out of the door. “I’m going back.”

The road felt cold under his feet. It was like the winter was mocking him. Cold weather, cold eyes, cold voice, cold betrayal.

The thing was, Yata did sense that something had not been right. Yet at the same time he thought nothing had been wrong.

How could there be anything wrong? _We had been best friends! We’ve got everything we had ever wanted! What had happened? What had gone wrong?_

 _Everything_ , that much was clear.

Yata bit his tongue again, tasting the bitterness and hints of salty iron. There was something very unpleasant wriggling inside him, half lurking for a chance to sink its teeth into his heart, half burning him ever so silently right beneath his skin. It breathed. It consumed him. It whispered poisonous sounds against his mind. It rose up and crawled down like a living monster trying to scratch its way out. Yata walked faster, faster, faster and faster, and broke into a storming run, letting himself get lost in his anger.

He kicked the door to his apartment, paused at the moment it opened. The door was unlocked. (Saruhiko had always locked the door. Always, whether they were out or inside, the door had stayed securely closed).  

“I’m home.” He spat out, so violently that his words sounded like a thorny whip.

Dark room. Empty silence.

“I said I’m home, you fucking bastard!”  The rage came crashing all over. Consuming, overwhelming, blinding all his senses. Yata grabbed the nearest object, a cheap wooden shoe rack, and threw it as hard as he could to the wall. It was shattered in the matter of seconds – being crushed and broken into dozens of unrecognizable pieces.

_“I’m home, Saruhiko!”_

_“...”_

_“What are you glaring at me for? Aren’t you supposed to say “Welcome home!”, hah?”_

_“…Am I?”_

_“Of course! And you call me an idiot, you idiot! Come one, say it!”_

_“Misaki.”_

_“W-What is it?”_

_“Welcome…home?”_

TRAITOR!

Swearing loudly, Yata stomped into the middle of the room and kicked the coffee table with all his strength, sending it straight to the bunk bed. When the destructive contact was made, the table was not only smashed but also scorched - flared then went down into grey ashes and smoldering scraps which fell fiercely onto the bottom bed. The red clan’s fire was screaming, but Yata paid it no mind.

_“Put down the drink and eat your damn vegetable already! You promised!”_

_“Stop nagging me. Are you my mom or what?”_

_“I’d whip you so hard if I were your mom! For God’s sake, behave for once, will you? Gimme the coke, you aren’t allowed to drink it anymore.”_

_“Don’t want to. Ah-uh, don’t you try to take it by force.”_

_“You…Fine, how about this? I’ll let you have 2 cokes each time I buy stuff, however, you need to eat just this one spoon of greenies, okay? Deal?”_

“ _Tsk…”_

TRAITOR! TRAITOR!

_“That was great, Saruhiko! I’m so glad we joined Homra together!”_

_“Mm.”_

DISGUSTING  BACKSTABBER!

_“You are coming with me, right, partner?”_

_“Of course, partner. Lead the way.”_

Why? When did Saruhiko take the wrong turn? Had that guy planned it right from the start? Was everything just a carefully masked lie? Or was there something he just didn’t know?

GOD. FUCKING. DAMN. IT!

The rush of strong emotions ran through Yata’s blood felt like lava running up an erupting volcano. He yanked the PDA watch out of his wrist harshly - buttons and straps flung away under the force - and raised it high above his head, ready to strike down. That’s it, just let it be scattered. It was nothing now, like the cherished memories and treasured feelings of the past which no longer meant anything but an overwhelming mess of unanswered questions filled with doubts and regrets. One hit, drop a hand, and all of them would be gone.

And yet…

Trembling fingers came loose. The watch slipped off the edge of his palm, fell straight down and hit the ground below with a dull thud, like a rock being dropped in a shallow well. Yata glanced up in a haze, and he saw it, the words on his left wrist.

_“Hey, Saruhiko!”_

_“Good evening, Misaki.”_

_“Gzee, you just want to keep saying that huh?”_

_“Good evening, Mi-sa-ki ~”_

_“Got it, got it, stop right there before you start to sound creepy…please.”_

Saying it so casually, so insistently, like an assurance that nothing could ever go wrong, like a carefully disguised confession of trust and love. How much of that had been true? Saying it as if we were meant to be together, as if they were soulmates, hah! What a clever trick, Saruhiko!

_“Good evening, Misaki.”_

“Shut up…You have no right to say that anymore!”

_“Misaki.”_

“Don’t you dare to call my name!”

The flame flared up, betrayed him by burning his own skin. Yata let his tears stream down, feeling his sanity being torn down bit by bit by each teardrop _and. Just. Can’t. Get. It!_

And then, everything sank into a noiseless darkness as Yata fell to his knees, crumbled in the middle of all the broken pieces that he had unconsciously destroyed.

………………………………………………

Yata felt a cool, slender hand carefully wiping the dried trace of tears on his cheek, waking him up slowly from his restless slumber. With eyes still closed, Yata snuggled into the palm and took a deep breath. Omega scent. Was it Saruhiko? Did Saruhiko…come back? Had he been there all this time and the betrayal was nothing but a terrible nightmare? Everything was fine, right?

But the scent was neither dark chocolate, nor rich soil, nor autumn rain, nor sharp metal. It was a placid and comforting smell, like that of a smooth, warm stone lying beside a shallow spring on a summer day.

“Saru…hiko?” Yata cracked an eye open, already prepared himself for the disappointment while cursing his mind for even having a little hope left. “No?”

“Ah. Sorry, it’s just me.”

“…Totsuka-san.” He snorted mockingly at himself in his head. “Thank for checking on me.”

The older blonde smiled gently. “I thought this may happen.”

“What would happen? Me fainting? Hah, how lame, right?”

Totsuka shook his head a little. For a moment, his expression became way too serious for Yata to ever get used to. Tea-like eyes looked at Yata with an unreadable, deep sadness. However, it was gone in a flash as Totsuka started to smile again. “It’s normal, you know. The hormones often mess up when an Omega has to deal with huge stresses for a long time.”

“Only times like these I am forced to remember I’m supposed to be weak, huh.” Being strong physically sure lowered his caution.

“How are you feeling now?”

“…Not well.”  It was hot, stinging, dizzy. Messy. His stomach churned and it felt like there were stones in his chest.

“I’ve asked to borrow King’s jacket for you. Strong Alpha pheromones would be a great help.” Totsuka pulled a black jacket out of the nearby bag and placed it on the bed within Yata’s reach instead of handing it straight to him. “Only if you want to, of course.”

Yata vaguely wondered why there was hesitation in Totsuka’s action. It was rather strange, indeed, for a mated Omega to willingly share their Alpha’s stuff with another, but somehow he knew the matter wasn’t that. Shrugging, Yata slowly glanced at Mikoto’s jacket – and suddenly understand.   

Leather. Tobacco. Wine. Smoke. Smoldering fire. They mixed with strong Alpha pheromones, creating an incredible smell that sent a shiver down Yata’s spine. However, it was far from what he really wanted - and he knew this, deep in his heart. The realization hit him hard like a ton of rocks, despite being quite obvious if he truly thought about it, and he unconsciously backed away just a few inches.

As if sensing Yata’s disturbance, Totsuka smiled gently and patted his head. “Try to take a good rest, will you? I’ll buy some medicines and bring you some of Kamamoto’s food.”

“Ah, yeah. Thank you.”

Yata waited until Totsuka was out of the door to flop back into the welcoming warmth of the bed. Taking a look around, he noticed that the room had been cleaned carefully, the burnt blanket had been changed - and on the top of the bed, his PDA watch had been placed there, fixed.

_How very kind, all of you._

A small smile bloomed on his lips.

Anna’s concern. Mikoto’s jacket. Totsuka’s kindness. Kusanagi’s help. Kamamoto’s support. Homra.

He wasn’t alone.

How sad it was how years of love could turn into anger and hatred in such a short time, but in the end, he was not alone.

Yata took a deep breath, feeling a tiny pang of happiness echoed in his chest. His confidence slowly returned, and the fire that had boiled his blood into lava earlier started to obey. No more doubt.

His world was damaged, but he still had so many precious people, so many precious things to hold on. So, it was just that he must continue to walk the path he had chosen. It would be such a long and painful path without Saruhiko - but if he tried his very best, he would be strong enough.  

Hopefully.

**M is for Misaki**

Fushimi never knew that blue could look so much like gray.

It was kind of funny, actually, how everything seemed to fade in colour the moment he turned his back to Misaki. Like a little push pressed on a remote’s button, and the TV show abruptly clicked into monochrome. The azure-painted wall of Scepter 4’s big building looked similar to dim silver, and the uniform coats might as well be gray.

Lowering his sword to rest just a few minutes, Fushimi took a gaze at the large window.

It was raining – midnight winter rain. The window’s glass was clouded over because of the persistent rain. Outside, the city looked like a fading labyrinth, bleak and melancholic, as if destined to be washed away and forgotten.

Fushimi could feel the cold steam creeping into each of his inhalation, freezing his lungs even though he had worked himself up all sweating. His hands trembled a little, out of the cutting chill as well as exhaustion. The sword took it as a cue to drop down the floor, making a clanking sound that echoed all over the quiet room. And with it, Fushimi let out an eerie laugh.

“Stupid.”

They ached - the tainted tattoo, the carved words on his left wrist, his head, his lungs, his chest. They ached with the same agony of a picked flower struggling its very best to not wither.

Stronger, he must become so much stronger so he could finally be useful and be able to stand against the one he betrayed. Fushimi picked his saber up and resumed practicing. Swinging it up and down, cross and diagonal. Turning left and right, back and front. Spinning one, two, three rounds. A thrust, a strike, then a block.

Gray and blue, sharp and cold, large and soundless, the world without Misaki.

“Misaki.” He muttered faintly, as he continued to focus on fighting his imaginary opponent, seeking for a trace of colour that just wasn't there. The pretty name rolled off his tongue like sweet honey – still full of tenderness and affection – and Fushimi thought briefly if he should try swallowing some sulfuric acids.

“Mi~saki.” He dragged the sound out of his throat again, put more seeds of insanity there, and felt as if his soul was slowly slanting on a slippery incline. “Mi~sa~ki~”. His own terrible voice gave even himself a chill of disgust, but the familiar name sparked an odd rush in his veins.

Yes, this would work. Misaki would hate this kind of taunting. After all, Fushimi knew more than anyone else how painful it was when one’s name being made fun of by someone who should never do it. The worse the burn was, the deeper the scar carved, and then, the fiercer the attention in Misaki’s golden eyes became – and, oh, how he wanted it.

“Mi-sa-ki!” One acute thrust of sword forward, aiming at the left collarbone of his make-believe so-called enemy. “Don’t you forget it!”

Despite everything, Fushimi didn’t know what he was referring to.

_“Woah! You’re really amazing! Do it again!”_

_“Hey, are you alright? Did you catch a cold? See, I keep telling you to take better care of yourself, but you never listen… Yeah, yeah, whatever. For now, just lie down, okay? I’ll cook something hot for you.”_

_“You and I, we can take over the world!”_

_“You call? Heh, why the surprise face? I told you I have good ears.”_

_“I don’t feel so well…Uhm…and will you let me borrow your shirt for a while? I-I-It’s not l-like that! Stop smirking! It’s your fucking fault I’m a-attached to it! W-What?”_

_“Saru, your soulmate sounds like a sarcastic douchebag… Why the fuck do they think “Most impressive, but not in a good way” is a good greeting? Say, if they ever hurt you, just call me and I’ll beat them to a pulp!”_

“ _Let’s go to Homra, Saru!”_

_“Mikoto-san sure is awesome, right? I’m so glad we’re his vanguards!”_

_“What’s with you? You’re so sour currently. Don’t talk about our comrades like that, dumbass. I get that you are not a fan of teamwork and stuff, but pull yourself together a little, will you?”_

_“Gzee, why do I need to wait? I don’t need a plan and whatnot against those small fries! Let’s just burn them like Mikoto-san told us, duh. Whatever, I’m going first!”_

“ _This mark is our pride! Did you forget it, Saruhiko?”_

_“You…I’ll kill you, traitor!”_

“I’ll kill you…traitor.” Fushimi repeated softly, feeling his wrist throbbing. “That’s right. Don’t…forget.”

_Do not forget. Do not look back. Do not hesitate._

“Is that a demand, or a self-reminder, I wonder?” A low-pitched voice jolted Fushimi out of his wandering thoughts. Standing proudly from the entrance was Munakata, the blue King.

Fushimi’s eyes narrowed, the way animals tensed themselves up when sensing strange phenomena. “Tsk. How long have you been there? What’s a King even doing here at this hour?”

“My sincerest apologies, Fushimi-kun. It has struck me as odd that the training room is lightened up until 3 in the morning. In terms of your sword practice, I’ve observed a good part of it, yes. Most excellent, if I do say so myself.”

“3 a.m…so you’ve been standing there for half an hour, huh. In most places in the world, it’s called stalking.” Fushimi clicked his tongue again in irritation, mostly at himself for not noticing it sooner. “Anyway, I’m not your late night entertainment show.”

“Oh, you’re certainly right.” Munakata’s lips curled into a playful smile, clearly amused.

There was no point in chasing pointless objections, so Fushimi turned away and considered if he should leave right now.

“Fushimi-kun.” He didn’t have a chance, though, for Munakata suddenly moved right in front of him, which made Fushimi instinctively took a jerky step back. If Munakata noticed his uneasiness, he didn’t show it whatsoever. “It comes to me that the rain has been pouring continuously for half a month. If it doesn’t come to a halt, the trees will surely be waterlogged, wouldn’t you agree?”

Fushimi paused for a short while, wondering why Munakata should care about such a trivial thing regarding his night practice and even put it in fancy metaphoric phrases. Why go through the trouble?

“If they die just because of a little water, they’re not worth surviving in the first place.” He murmured under his breath. “Tsk. Why do you care? It’s none of your business anyway.” It was almost too easy to rudely talk back at the almighty blue King, words just flowed out of his mouth. Fushimi thought briefly of Suoh Mikoto and couldn’t stop a self-mocking snort from escaping his tight lips.

“Is that so? I always think green leaves look the most brilliant in the first sunshine after a downpour. That is to say, the point of balance is precisely important for one’s growth.”

Fushimi scowled, eyes narrowing into a questioning stare.

Giving one composed smile, Munakata backed just a tiny distance away, just enough for Fushimi to breath. “At any rate, this time of the day isn’t appropriate for talking in the slightest. Will you escort me to my room, Fushimi-kun?”

The refusal was already dancing on the tip of his tongue, but Fushimi only stared at the other man with a carefully guarded expression. “You are not doing this because I am apparently your soulmate. And if you expect something from me, you’re wasting your precious time, captain.”

There was a fleeting surprise flashed in Munakata’s eyes, yet it was immediately replaced by an amused gaze. “What do you reckon a soulmate is?”

“Huh…It’s a bond of fate which connects one person with someone of the same core with a natural affinity, unspoken understanding, compatibility and trust and stuff … Tsk, or that’s what’s written the stupid dictionary, I don’t know.”

“Exactly.”Munakata nodded with a knowing smile, already strolled out of the room in a slow but steady speed which clearly hinted for Fushimi to follow. “Even though most people beg to differ, the original definition never says a word about love being obligatory.”

Fushimi stood dead still for a moment, eyes widening in a sudden half-crazed realization, before clicking his tongue and moving to the door. However, he didn’t go after the older Alpha but walking straight to the dorm’s direction instead.

 _How ridiculous, all of this._  

“I’m sure you’re more than capable of going back on your own. By the way, don’t scare the monsters under your bed too much, captain.”

“Hmn, very well. Good night, Fushimi-kun.”

 _True love between soulmates, huh._ Even the sound of it came off as wrong, somehow. Such a dumb, senseless, made-up delusion that human shamelessly clasped their head into, then forced that false idea onto generations after generation.

But, it was a relief to know that his soulmate didn’t believe in such a thing either. About the “having the same core” line…Fushimi remembered the way Munakata’s eyes gleamed when fighting with Suoh, and snorted. Really, how ironic. But how fitting, at the same time.

As if someone could ever love him.

(Even Misaki turned away.)

The hall was long and dark. The rain didn’t stop. And with each drop falling down, his thoughts scattered with only a single name ringing loud and clear. Misaki, Misaki, red hair, amber eyes, bright smile, sunny scent, always Misaki. Forget clans or soulmates or love or whatever, in the end, his mind always wandered back to Misaki – so very much like a terrible curse.

Fushimi raised a twitching hand to scratch the Homra mark on his collarbone, then surprised when being greeted with the smell of blood instead of burnt flesh. Pain shot through his veins but it’s okay, it’s okay, pain was easy to take, pain was the only language he could understand. Better pain than emptiness.

He stood silently in front of the door to his room. It was unlocked – no need for locking doors now. Even so, he unconsciously looked for the key that wasn’t there in his pocket anymore.

A sudden dizziness crashed itself into his mind, threatening to break a current of bottled up emotions. He wanted to laugh, to cry, to scream until his lungs hurt and his stomach churned. He wanted to stab things until they broke and punched walls until he could no longer feel his hands. He wanted to kick down the door or threw himself onto the floor until his body stopped shaking. He wanted to go out there and fight with Misaki until their precious past became completely broken. He wanted to hurt everything before everything could hurt him.

(This is what trust does to people. It would always break and no one would get out unscathed.)

Fushimi took a deep breath, telling himself that he didn’t really care anyway, and buried all those chaotic emotions deep, deep, deep down, under a blank face and cold eyes, yet once again. He blamed all of it on the cheap, ineffective Omega’s emotional control suppressants.

Nothing actually happened. He was fine. It was better this way. He’d get used to this soon enough.

With all that said, it still took him a while to finally sleep, because the top bed reminded him of the stupid habits and the bottom bed was occupied by the hallucination of Misaki and the floor almost froze him to death.

(Fushimi decided he probably needed more coffee. And definitely more suppressants.)

\------------------------------------

In Fushimi’s eyes, the bolstering crowd on the streets felt like an old film on a worn out screen, as if he wasn’t really there – wasn’t really be one of them – but being the audience, instead. But that was nothing new. It was the same gray, the same blue, every day after every day after every day.

And just then, without warning, he saw a flash or red. A warm, familiar red.

Fushimi’s heart skipped a beat, his breath quickened, adrenaline pumped into him like drug injected straight into his veins. Immediately, he ran through the crowd, gasped for air, feeling actually living again, finding himself grinning from cheek to cheek like never before. With it, his world _breathed into life_.

“Misa –!” As soon as the word had been born, it died young on his lips.

Misaki was smiling.

Misaki could still smile at those people who wore a stupid brand called comrades. Even though Fushimi had gone.

It was

so disgusting.

He heard laughter ringing in his ears and felt dark hands covering his mouth. The bitter smell of abandonment crisped in the air. Below him, the ground spiraled downwards, as if hell was calling out an invitation. A whisper wormed its way into his mind, in such a familiar, familiar voice. “Hey, little monkey, guess what? You’re so replaceable after all.”

Fingers trembling madly, Fushimi reached for his saber. The sharp coldness almost jointed him back to reality – but the whispers dragged him down again.

“You’re still so very weak.” It sang, low and malicious, like an execration. “Look at Misaki, he’s always the stronger one.”

Shut up.

“It’s you who aren’t needed in his world anymore.”

SHUT UP!

“In the end, I am the only one who won’t leave you.”

Fushimi turned away from the warm red, letting the world fade in colours once more time. The squirming darkness, it drove him to walk, to run, to hide, to go – somewhere far away, not here, not to face Misaki yet, not when he was this weak. More, more sword practicing, more power polishing, more authority, more cruelty, more!

That man smirked at him, telling him he was stupid, no use to struggle, you could never be strong enough, you bore my blood and my face, therefore, you were destined to break everything, after all.

“Maybe that is what I want.” Fushimi stared at his reflection in the mirror. He slid the right part of his hair back and found himself looking at Niki’s twisted smile. Briefly, he recalled one line from the horror story that used to keep Misaki up at night, trembling and clinging to him. “To not be haunted by a ghost, one must become the ghost itself.”

The sugary copycat laughter that was torn out of his throat made him want to vomit, but he continued to laugh anyway.

 

**N is for Nicotine**

_Who the hell are you?,_ was what Yata wanted to say.

Because the person standing right in front of him wasn’t Saruhiko, couldn’t be Saruhiko.

“I see you’re still running around with those low-lives like a mad dog, huh? Hey, good evening~ Misa~ki!”

No way. He had thought about this, but still, it felt like the reality had just slapped him in the face.

“Don’t you fucking say that…monkey!”

He didn’t remember anyone like that. Not that face, not that voice, not that laugh, not those poisonous words. The Saruhiko he knew had been lost, had been replaced by a stranger – no, a shadow. And it freaked him out.

“The past is an illusion. This is the truth. Look at me now, Misaki. Am I not a better person in a better place than your Homra punks?”

Sharp cut that was too close to stabbing Yata in the stomach. A strike, then a twist of sword. Fire burnt. Clashing sounds of metal against metal. Insults and taunts. Red and blue and more red, anger and hurt and twisted enjoyment. They turned the air toxic.

Their first encounter after a long time of separation didn’t end well.

Neither did the rest.

Every once in a while, Saruhiko would seek him out. Very actively. Almost in a feverish manner.

Those times, the traitor either literally crashed into Yata without giving a damn about whatever he was doing, or tailed him like a shadow and called his name tauntingly over and over again until he put up a good fight. Just like that, for months, a game so painful of constant pushing and pulling, and Saruhiko had always been the winner.

“It’s as if Fushimi has caught a bad cold”, said Kusanagi with a light smile, after he complained about yet another unpleasant encounter with Saruhiko on a terribly humid summer day, “and Yata-chan is his medicine.”

“...Hah?”

On the couch, Totsuka, who was fixing the strings of his guitar, chuckled a bit. “That’s one way to say it.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Yata scowled. There it was. The feeling that, somehow, everyone seemed to share a mutual secret which he didn’t have the slightest idea about.

Heavy stepping sounds interrupted them, implying that Mikoto was walking down the stairs. The red King yawned and rubbed his messy hair while moving toward Totsuka with a slight frown.

“...Tatara.”

“King. Couldn’t sleep? Or did you have an unpleasant dream again?” The young blond man smiled softly.

“...Hm.”

Mikoto flopped down the couch and lay there casually, head close to Totsuka’s thigh but not quite touching it. It was quite touching for a prideful Alpha to show his soulmate such humble affection in public, but Mikoto wasn’t a man who cared about petty things.

“Tatara.”

“Yes, yes. I’m here, right? Everything is fine.”

Picking his guitar up, Totsuka played a soft, sweet melody. It could be a lullaby or an old love song. Within minutes, the king silently fell asleep again.

“Perhaps, regardless of how different King and Fushimi are, as fellow human beings they’re surprisingly similar.” The Homra vassal glanced at Yata with an almost pitying smile.

“That traitor has nothing even close to as great as Mikoto-san.” He snarled, though flashes of memories sparked in his mind.

Bunk beds, stormy night, waking up in the middle of the night to find a warm body pressing against him. Morning when the first thing he saw was an upside-down head from the top bed. His own blanket wrapped tightly around Saruhiko as the boy curled on the bottom bed at the nights Yata got home late. Afternoon when the dark-haired boy abruptly stomped in the Homra’s bar and dragged Yata to the game arcade without telling any explanation or accepting any objection. Quiet, teary blue eyes following Yata’s every movement whenever Saruhiko got a bad cold.

Maybe they all had meant something. Even so, the memories healed _nothing_.

“I don’t give a damn about that guy. I thought he had gone for good, but he kept prowling around me.” Yata muttered. “He’s as bitter as poison now, it’s damn annoying just to see his crazy face.”

“You think so, neh? Maybe you and I, too, are vaguely similar in some strange ways, haha.” When the song was finished, Totsuka put the guitar aside and brushed some stray hairs from Mikoto’s forehead, smiling a somewhat melancholy smile. “First-time smokers often choke. They know cigarettes are bad, yet they never quit.”

“Hah? So?”

“Nothing, nothing at all.”

“Really…You never make any sense, Totsuka-san.”

\--------------------------------------------

 _Totsuka-san did make sense_ , was what Yata thought, the minute he was pinned to the alley’s wall by Saruhiko.

Their fights sometimes would go like that. One thing led to another and before either of them noticed it, they had already been staring into each other’s eyes and sought for _something_ that he could not name _._

Yata never found what he wanted to see. Saruhiko, on the other hand, always had a kind of fleeting satisfied look as if he had archived a certain goal.

“What the hell are you looking at?” Yata snarled. He might as well try asking.

“Your pathetic loser face, what else?”

“Tsk!”Heh, should have known. “Bastard, what do you want?”

Yata’s moves were constrained due to the position he was forced in, but he could easily break through if he wanted to. Instead, he stood there stubbornly, remaining perfectly firm while Saruhiko gradually closed their distance with the unsheathed saber in hand.

“What’s this sudden obedience? It’s no fun if you don’t struggle, Misaki. I could kill you right now.”

“You won’t.”

“I am going to.”

“…Fucking liar.”

The saber cut a small, shallow wound on his neck, just enough to break the skin. Saruhiko was too close - his body heat and scent washed over Yata, so much that they even drowned the smell of blood. Their eyes locked, and deep inside those greyish blue eyes Yata swore he saw something broke.

“Misaki.” Saruhiko breathed out. Somehow, it sounded like a prayer.

In that transitory moment, a flood of intense feelings gripped Yata’s soul, and he choked out the other’s name at the same time as a crisp “clank” resounded from the abandoned sword. Saruhiko leant in, closer and closer, with a dazed face that Yata was sure he was wearing one too. Without thinking, he jerked forward and met Saruhiko midway. Two stray thoughts ran through his mind: It was wrong -- the ground rushed up at him, and Yata thought he might fall into a black hole -- and it was right – he felt giddy, eager to see what would happen next, would it be the same as before when they had been two brats struggling with the heat in the bathroom, or would i--

With a mixed taste of burnt sugar and lukewarm water, the kiss drove him dizzy, like a breathless haze caused by being strangled.

It lasted for three seconds at most. Then, Saruhiko, with sheer terror written all over his face, stumbled back, threw out a broken mumble of “What the heck, you’re fucking stupid, a virgin like you must want to save your first kiss for your Alpha huh, too bad I pity you, need to go now, that’s it for today Misaki”, and ran away.

Yata stared after the blue coat for a minute, before slapping himself harshly and blowing the nearest wall down to ashes. What a fucking joke, isn’t it.

(Now, here was the funniest part: the next time they crossed paths, Yata was the first one who went for the chase.)

 

**O is for Opium**

Piles of charred woods, coals and soot lay messily all over the underground trench. Rubble smoke still emitting slightly from the smouldering ruin. All the ways out were either occluded or burnt down. It wasn’t pitch dark, but the sneaky lights coming from above were still too weak to see clearly.   

“Tsk. It’s entirely your fault that we’re trapped in this cramped place.” Fushimi said coldly, shutting his eyes in order to enhance his vision quickly. “If you don’t need your brain, then donate it to the hospital. It’d be more helpful for the society.”

“Keh! I would have got those guys already if you didn’t jump in!” Misaki yelled, obviously irritated.

“Handling criminal strains is Scepter 4’s job, so you’re the one who was in my way. And stop moving around! I know you’ve almost elbowed me in the face.”

“Darn, you’re so annoying! I do prefer to have an infinite distance away from you, but I still would like to hit you in your fucking face!”

“Ugh, so noisy…”

Fushimi’s head felt a little woozy due to the impact of falling down fifty feet underground. There was a tight pain around his waist that was barely bearable. On his arms and back were several stinging cuts and burns, not too serious but likely to cause blood loss. Also, he might or might not have his left wrist bone snapped.  

“Hey…are you in one piece there?”

Feeling annoyed at the unexpected question, Fushimi sat up and his eyelids fluttered open, the world coming into view though remaining a hazy blur. When it cleared, he found himself looking straight into a pair of amber eyes that somehow wasn’t as angry as they should be.

“Saru?”

Again, such a half-hearted thing.

“Don’t.” Fushimi gritted out. It was a clear warning. _Do not talk to me. Do not give me your pity. It’s not worth it if you don't actually look at me._

The thing was, Misaki never listened to warnings.

“Idiot monkey. Do you even realize that you’re shivering?” Without giving Fushimi a second to resist, Misaki pinned him down and processed to do a quick first aid on his waist. “At any rate, we’re trapped here until backup comes. And I swear to God, I so not wanna be stuck with a fucking corpse!”  

As the result of being pushed abruptly, the dizziness came back full force and momentary immobilized Fushimi in place. Before he knew it, Misaki’s hands were already working on his bleeding injuries with somewhat rash but mindful movements. The dancing fingers were like waves of warmness. Fushimi was drowned in them, skin tingling against his will. Yet, he told himself they held faux and antipathy – repulsive, and from them voided any scrap of affection.

 _Heh…,_ Fushimi clicked his tongue, _right_ , _as if_ – Look, Misaki was nodding at the make-do bandage and smiling lightly.

He wanted something else, but that something wasn’t coming easy, was it?

“My, taking care of the traitor, aren’t you just sweet?” Fushimi sneered, trying to push the other boy off him. “Didn’t something like this happen before? You know the routine.”

It was almost gratifying how Misaki’s eyes instantly darkened. “You’re always like this.” The grip on Fushimi’s shirt became tighter as more of the older boy’s weight ground down on his legs. “You’ve changed so much, but somehow this part of you doesn’t change at all. It really pisses me off.”

Fushimi grinned. Misaki was looking at him. In this small, murky place, it felt like the world was closing off to only the two of them.

On a spur of the moment, he whispered. “Good evening, Misaki.” Rubbing his broken left wrist on the ground, Fushimi knew the spiteful words that were coming. There was no defense against them. He waited for them, even. If this was the end, he didn’t mind it that much.

Yet once again, Misaki betrayed his hope.

“Don’t.” The redhead’s voice was not above a wrenched whisper. The intense anger faded in those limpid eyes and be replaced by something else. Something like…a sorrowful, lonely yearning. It was so confusing that, for a moment, Fushimi wondered if he's been reading it all wrong.

He didn’t.

“Again and again, even now, why do you keep saying that? Is it because you’re trying to confuse me? But you, you sound like you’re claiming, or, I don’t know, denying against someone…” Misaki dipped his head in closer, allowing Fushimi to take a little peek at the vulnerable feelings deep inside. “Who are you trying to fool, Saru?”

Fushimi’s breath was caught painfully in his throat, for Misaki’s sudden overwhelming emotions seemed to have a hold of him. He gulped nervously, cracked his brain to find a way to bend the situation back to what he wanted. Just being the center of Misaki’s hatred had been enough, no need of all this…sentimental nonsense. Misaki was easy to provoke, Misaki was easy to lose senses in anger, so, so-- Misak—

With a burst of strength, Fushimi harshly rolled the older boy over, both hands gripping the latter’s wrists down and pressing until there was less than an inch between their body. Venom was a second away from spilling out his mouth, but all he could choke out was a worn out mumble. “I’ve found my soulmate.”

“Yeah.”  Misaki breathed in respond. To Fushimi’s surprise, the redhead didn’t appear to be shocked. “I know. Kusanagi-san accidently told me yesterday.”

“Is that why you’ve acted strangely today?”

“How about you? Is the blue King the reason you left?”

“…Tsk. No, not really.”

“But –“

“Why does it even affect you anyway!?”

“Why, huh? Saruhiko… I- ”. The sentence hovered there a little, wavering hesitantly as though Misaki had no idea how to say what’s in his mind. “Really, how the heck did it have to become like this? Whenever we see each other now we always end up cursing and quarreling and fighting senseless, and those times I swear I hate you so much. So, why, just why,…when knowing that…I feel…” Misaki shielded his face, and whatever he was saying was too muddled to hear. Before Fushimi could stop himself, he was unconsciously moving closer, until his lips touched the back of Misaki’s hand.

_Bad ideas._

It poured out at once, the desperate longing that he couldn’t deny or erase. It left him gasping for air and craving for the warmth that only Misaki possessed. How intoxicating - the smell of Misaki’s hair, the taste of his skin, the touch of his unsteady breaths on Fushimi’s face. _This is a mistake,_ Fushimi thought, knowing rather than feeling that there was a cracking sensation in his heart, as though it began to shatter.

“That is because…” Fushimi whispered, turning the shielding hand up so he could press a brief kiss to its palm, “you belong to me.”

As the redhead drew a sharp breath in stunned shock, Fushimi took it as a cue to bite at the tender flesh of Misaki’s lips. Encouraged by the thick, responsive hiss echoing in his ears, he smiled and began to wander under the shirt and explored the slopes of Misaki’s skin: the bends of shoulders, the dip of navel, the edges of hips. They sparked fire at the tips of his fingers - so foreign, so unreal, yet as addicting as drugs. Fushimi watched the boy underneath him closely, from the messed up red strands, to the gulping throat, and to the hem of his pants – trying to burn everything into memory. He reached forward and tilted his head to kiss Misaki fiercely, marking, claiming, hungry for more.

Fushimi only stopped when being shoved a little away. Still, his gaze didn’t waver away, but continue to stare, appreciating how the older boy was shaded by the artful darkness and dancing rays of weak lights. Misaki’s lips were fuller since they'd been teased mercilessly, his eyes glowing like gems, and a rosy blush had made its home across his cheeks. Beautiful, Misaki had always been so deadly beautiful.

_And it hurts._

“I never was yours. And never will be.”

_It’s nothing but suffering._

“Just as you never are mine from the start.”

Misaki raised his left hand up to grip Fushimi’s right wrist. A reminder, an unspoken warning.

“So?” But Fushimi only laughed and robbed another harsh kiss, all teeth and tongue.

And at that moment, they both understood immediately. Somehow. They weren’t so sure about what exactly that they understood, but they did. Misaki drew a shaky breath, and closed his eyes before leaning into the heated kiss.

So this was how the mute and the blind communicate.

It wasn’t enough by any mean, but for now, it was perfect. Magical, even.

Fushimi knew his fingers were shaking badly as they reached for the skin around Misaki’s chest and he hated himself for it. It was warm and firm, moving in rhythm with their frantic breaths, undeniably tense with strained excitement. He didn’t look up further for fear of what’s above there, pushing down the ache in his heart and trying not to dwell on it now. From deep in his mind, Fushimi was aware that they were only this carried away by the heat of the situation combined with Misaki’s affected emotion, but chose to bury that thought.

“Arms up." he tested the water, and was satisfied with the way Misaki grudgingly obey. The motion brought their flushed body closer, mostly because Misaki made sure to arch his back and grabbed Fushimi’s coat on the way as a playful revenge. A moment of messy, tangled limbs later and the blue coat was gone and forgotten. “Eager, aren’t you? Not bad for a virgin, I thought you’d be more awkward.”

“It’s just you, so… Anyway, shut the fuck up or I’ll change my mind! All of this is really goddamned confusing, f-fuck, I hate you so much.”

“Hm…” Instead of replying, Fushimi bit and sucked his way down the redhead’s neck as his hands fumbled with the belt buckle, needing to touch, to feel. Misaki could only groan and bucked up with some kinds of innocent impatience, if that made sense. Amused, Fushimi ground down hard on the newly revealed underwear, reveling in the way Misaki’s eyelids fluttered shut and the deep, throaty growl escaping from these swollen lips.

“Damn it, Sa-, hey, Saru!” Misaki hissed with growing heavy breaths, his nails digging into Fushimi’s back. The scratch struck a sensitive spot somewhere near his lower spine, forcing Fushimi to draw a sharp breath in response and stoop lower, their hips colliding perfectly together. Even through a layer of fabrics there would be bruises left, like a map of where Misaki’s hands had conquered, and the mere thought of it was exceedingly arousing.

“Misaki.” Fushimi raised his head up just enough for their lips to seek each other again in a rough, warlike kiss, lips raw with want. He took a lungful of Misaki’s scent, feeling it stoking the already violent fire in his lower half. “Misaki, ah, come on.”

Nodding shyly, Misaki snaked a hand under Fushimi’s shirt, clumsily gliding across the skin and rubbing small circles on the way. Fushimi sighed, the pleasure coming from those small moves seared in his veins. He was close, and judging the way the redhead squirmed Misaki must be, too.  Heck, it was like this even though they barely did anything.

“Uhm, Saru, easy, you are too -- …!” Out of the blue, Misaki stopped altogether, golden eyes went wide and completely transfixed. All traces of instinctive arousal vanished, as he wiped the back of his free hand across his mouth with a face of someone who had just woken up with a terrible hangover.

"Then, why?" A whisper so soft, it resembled the drifting smoke of a winter day.

Fushimi was about to open his mouth to ask when he realized just where exactly Misaki’s hand was on him.

_Ah. Of course._

The realization hit so strong that he felt his injured stomach tightening as if a cord was wrapping slowly around his insides.

“You’d asked it so many times, Misaki, aren’t you tired?” Fushimi gritted his teeth. “I was sick of playing house with goons, and I’m not nearly stupid enough to bow to a good-for-thing of a King like a helpless puppy. Heh, but that is your role, isn’t it?”

Misaki hissed in anger. Just that, one single minute and everything came back to the way it had been and should be. The magic was gone. How funny, forever they just couldn’t wait to burn everything to the ground. It was an oppressive feeling that set them both on edge for different reasons, as if they were blind when just a moment before they could see everything.

“Asshole… That’s not what I want to ask! But don’t fucking talk ill about Homra! Don’t act like you’re of another world or something, you were one of us, you used to be my best friend and it can’t change no matter what! You, what was all of it to you!?”

“A scar.”Fushimi smirked, intentionally shrugged so the tainted insignia came to view.

Misaki snapped at him, irritated. “Fine. Wrong question.” There’s only the barest hint of pain in the vanguard’s voice. “What am I to you?”

For such a dumb little question, it held an immense force that rendered Fushimi speechless for some seconds. “You are just a pain in my neck, Misaki, just...” When he found his voice, he intended to lie smoothly, to taunt as always. However, nonsense words kept spilling out of his mouth without his control. “...a chain, a shackle. No, Misaki is more like a bloody knife, a burning arrow, or a fatal drug. Right, to me, you’re…” He turned his gaze away and moved off the smaller boy, swallowing the rest back down his throat before it was too late. ... _are a daydream that's too good to be true, but I can't wake up from._

“Saruhiko… So why are you doing this? I don't understand, you say those things, you act like you can't stand me, but then sometimes you pull a stun like before. Can't you just stop being a walking contradiction all the damn times?”

“Tsk. It doesn't mean anything. I merely wanted to play with you, virgin.”

Misaki sat up abruptly, fixing his clothes while glaring fiercely at Fushimi, who clearly wouldn't explain a thing. ““Blame it on the heat”, you're gonna say that, right? Isn't your heat like a day away? I'm surprised to see you actually work today. I thought that the blue monkey King would chain you to the bed or something.”

Fushimi blinked. The truth was that he'd been on suppression for so long he'd completely forgotten when his heat occurred. Now that's mentioned, he unexpectedly had a convenient excuse.

“You remember? Ah, or did you have quite a sniffing session, little puppy?”

“Fuck you. Your personality is really rotten, that's why your scent becomes so fucking wrong.”

“Heh, do tell, I'm curious.”

Misaki lowered his head, for once wearing an unreadable expression. A few moments of heavy silence passed, then he grunted the answer without looking up.

“Rust.”

Before Fushimi could fling a snide remark to cover how badly the simple word unnerved him, large noises suddenly resounded from above. Police siren, clear orders and hurry steps.

“Seem like your stupid Alpha had come to pick you up.” Misaki muttered, remaining still with his head hang low. “Like it should be.”

Fushimi sighed. Of course, at the end of the day, Misaki just wouldn’t fully understand.

“Move. Since Scepter 4 is public service government, we will even take pity on someone like you.”

“Hell no. I’ll wait for Mikoto-san here.”

Suoh Mikoto, that name only brought bad goose bumps. _And what’s more, because of that man, once again, you clearly have no intention of following me or properly asking me to stay._

“...Suit yourself.”

_Nonetheless, not like I will._

What’s done is done. They were enemies after all. Picking up the coat without looking back, Fushimi stepped away. He shot a ray of blue aura up as an SOS signal. As soon as it came out, two blue clansmen came to give him a rope ladder.

“Hey, Saru...” Misaki sighed. “What do I smell like?”

Fushimi bit his lips. Misaki’s scent... Mid-summer’s dusk, leftover fire, smouldering kindle, worn-out sunflower. There were a thousand things needed to be said, yet thousands of reasons not to.

In the end, he chuckled. “Ashes.”

 

**P is for Patchwork**

“Kamamoto called. Bad news, Mikoto, Yata-chan.” Kusanagi solemnly informed. “Our on-tag dangerous strain has gone berserk at the Tsubame mall. Kamamoto, Akagi and Bandou are safe for now. However, on the scene, civilians and even some blue clansmen had been badly attacked.”

Yata asked before he could think through. “Who?”

“Don’t worry, it’s not someone you know.” Kusanagi gave a tight smile. “We’d better come there right now, it’s rapidly getting out of hand as we speak. By the way, we’ll have no choice but to come across Scepter 4 since this is an S-level emergency, so behave yourself the best you can. ”

Mikoto nodded nonchalantly while Totsuka put on his jacket. Yata wasn’t nearly as calm, but he tried to hold back from dashing ahead.

“You should stay here, Anna. Mitsuru is an extremely hazardous strain, a top rank alpha to add. I don’t want to endanger you. Be a good girl, okay?”

“That you can be assured, Izumo. Everyone, please be careful.”

When they arrived, things looked even worse than Kamamoto’s report. There were smoke and noises and screams. Yata had to take a moment to grasp what was happening. It was one of those freak accidents that if he hadn't been there, he wouldn't have believed it.

Half of the mall was destroyed, crumble concretes, collapsed walls and broken goods lying everywhere. Ambulance, fire truck, local police's cars and special Scepter 4’s vans packed like sardines all around. Though the blues had done a good job of evacuating local people and securing the area, it still looked like a nasty battlefield.

“Mikoto-san! Yata-san! Over here! This is really bad!” Kamamoto, who was carrying someone on his back, ran to them with a panic-stricken face. Beside him was an equally terrified Bandou.

“You two!” Yata yelled. “What happened?”

“It’s Akagi! The strain grabbed him, and then, then,… he fell and doesn’t react at all now!”

Eyes widening in shock, Yata clutched his hand around Akagi’s shoulders and shake hard, only to be stopped by Totsuka.

“We need to find Mitsuru. According to our incomplete record, his power is stealing other people’s soul, including their last feelings and memories, via touching the targets, thus making himself stronger. Akagi should be fine if we find a way to make Mitsuru return it.”

As soon as the last word coming out of the blonde’s mouth, a phantom-like figure jumped down right in front of them. Leaving no fleeting moment for anyone to defend or counterattack, the strain pushed both Totsuka and Yata violently by their chest, driving them back a few feet with a snapping noise.

Yata scrambled to his feet right on time to see something appeared behind Totsuka. It was a surreal image, which looked as if it was inside a mirror, of a tender claret glow inside a floating narrow sphere standing out from the creamy light background. A single scarlet thread was tied diagonally around the sphere, giving a mixed feeling of both securing and restraining it in place.

“Ah, ah, nice soul, good, very good!” The strain, Mitsuru, giggled. He was a tall but sickly thin guy, almost like a walking skeleton. With an unruly face, greasy grey hair and clouded green eyes, he had the appearance akin to that of an insane serial murderer. He glanced from Totsuka to Yata, and the vanguard found a chill climbing up his spine. “And you got a passable one, young boy! It’d be much nicer if the blue wire wasn’t there! My, what worries you?”

Knowing that looking away from the enemy was a fatal mistake, yet Yata couldn’t help but glancing behind. There it was, his soul reflection. Small sparkling fireflies flew here and there, adding a certain lively feeling to the whole reflection. Blue wires coming from two opposite directions pierced lightly through the surface of a rough-edged orb, which held a burning cherry red flame inside, then came to a knot at the front.

( _“My, what worries you?”_ Immediately, Yata understood what the wires represented.)

A mistake it was. Mitsuru chose that exact moment to plunge toward him and Totsuka as powerfully as a rocket. No time to dodge, too late!

“Burn.” A crisp word was the only warning before a raging tornado of fire came crashing down. It effectively cut Mitsuru’s attack, yet didn’t scare him away.

Instead, the strain only chuckled in a creepy sing-song voice. “Oh, what a great day! Another King! Should I have a King’s soul? But no, no, no, I know better. The souls of Kings must be very ugly. That’s right, I bet they are all tense and disobedient and arrogant, don’t need one - ugh, no way.”

Eyes narrowing, Mikoto unleashed the red King’s power. Fire flared from his body, all the way up to the tip of his hair. Another blaze circled under his feet, ready to hunt.

“With all due respect, hold it right there, the third and red King Suoh Mikoto.”

Yata whirled around. That voice -!

“...Munakata.” Mikoto snorted. “Fancy words as always.”

The blue King and his full cast of subordinates made a grand entrance, though except for Munakata everyone else looked slightly out of breaths. Yata glared at Saruhiko, who, for once, didn’t immediately provoke him but paying full attention at the PDA in hands. It only confirmed how much of a trouble this strain was.

“How persistent, blue people, chasing me all the way here~” Mitsuru laughed. “ The last ones were very delicious! Such pure souls, such naive terrified feelings! Bring me some more?” A daring gleam flashed in his green eyes, one that made Yata’s instinct screamed danger. “Kings. Out of my way, or I’ll destroy all the souls I have.”

Saruhiko grumbled. “It’s not an empty threat. One reckless move and we can’t get a single soul back.”

Mitsuru made an arrogant face, however, he was smart enough to keep quite a distance away from the Kings.

“So you heard, Suoh Mikoto. I advise you not to treat this critical situation in that usual barbarian manner of yours.” The flame still stubbornly burnt around Mikoto’s torso, but Munakata’s warning glare was equally firm. It wasn't until Totsuka gently touched the red King’s hand that he calmed down. “Preventing criminal Strains from disturbing citizens’ life is Scepter 4’s job, and we will handle it so as to result in a preferable outcome. In fact, I believe our third-in-command already had something brilliant in mind.”

Eyebrows raising scornfully, Yata snorted and threw a brief look at Saruhiko who had started to type something at inhuman speed on his PDA. Again, huh? Always the geniuses who took the stage.

“Three minutes.” Without looking up, Saruhiko spit out the words like even the minimal amount of talking at the moment was extremely distracting. “Keep that sucker busy in three minutes more.”

Nodding without hesitation, the blue King gave out crucial orders to the file-and-rank, forming a strategic defensive battle formation in less than ten seconds. The heartless woman immediately understood what she needed to do, stepping to the front of the battlefield and controlling the entire main squad.

Mitsuru, that bastard, had no qualm striking down the weaker blue coats from the side while continuing to flash the reflection of their souls to judge their worthiness. Thank to the stolen souls, Mitsuru’s power had reached an incredible level. However, even when normal clansmen stood no chance against him, it was nowhere near the power of a King. If not for the safety of the souls, both Kings should grind him to mince right now!

“Ugly. Ugly! Way too weak! Plain. Ah, here a good one. Become one of my children!” Mitsuru grabbed the arm of a long black-haired Scepter 4’s clansman, whose soul reflection shined a gentle yet tenacious cyan light inside a slightly inclined sphere that was hanged by two gray strings. After a powerful hit was sent straight to the blue coat, Mitsuru pulled the defenseless soul almost all the way out. However, all of a sudden, an azure shield cut through the way between the Strain and the blue coat, effectively creating a strong barrier.

Munakata stood his ground unwaveringly, protecting all his clansmen and limiting Mitsuru’s attack without moving a step. Saruhiko had finished typing whatever he had intended to do, and now stared at the Strain unblinkingly, face devoid of emotions. It was the face he usually made when calculating something difficult unbelievably fast. Even though Yata thought of Scepter 4 as nothing but government’s dogs, he couldn’t help but be impressed. Not in a good way, nonetheless.

A minute and a half had passed. Mitsuru still went on a ravage despite being more or less being restrained in a small area.

Feeling horribly restless, Yata grumbled. “Why must we have to stand by? I was lucky, but Akagi had his soul completely stolen. Revenge is in order! I really want to beat that guy to a pulp!”

“Interfering now is not a smart move. As Fushimi said, one careless action and you may end up being soulless for real this time.” Kusanagi flicked his lighter open, eyes sharp and stern. “Mitsuru would dispose of the souls if he deems there’s danger to him. We must find a way to trick him to release them on his free will.” The bartender shot several fireballs to support the blues, which was well-appreciated thank to its long range attack and flexible uses of misdirection. Even though, Mitsuru seemed to confident that he wouldn't be attacked directly.

_Fucking strain and his fucking unfair ability!_

Two minutes and forty seconds. Yata glanced impatiently at Saruhiko, whose eyes had closed in absolute concentration. What was his plan? Come on, do something! Show your damn worth!

Two minutes and fifty seconds.

“Captain, Lieutenant.” Finally, Saruhiko opened his eyes. “No matter what happens, please do not let anyone move. Especially the brainless Homra idiots.”

_What the fuck?_

Totsuka smiled in all seriousness. “That I can manage.”

_Hey!_

Awashima nodded. “What’s the percentage of success?”

“…99%.”

“Hah. Confident, are you?” Bandou sneered. “What about the last 1%?”

There was no answer, as Saruhiko drew his sword and started to run toward the battlefield. Alone. That goddamned bastard! Still thought his comrades were nothing but decoration, huh?

“All units! Fall back!”Awashima’s order rang through the air clearly. The blue coats withdraw in an instant, creating a sort of human circling barrier, cutting all possible exits if the worst came to happen. Yata had no choice but to join the defensive front line, helplessly watching Saruhiko approach the nasty Strain in solitary.

“Oh~? What’s this? Don’t want to play anymore~? I’m still hungry, you know? More souls, more pretty souls for me!”

Saruhiko calmly stepped forward, lips curling just a little forming a ghost of a smile. Flashes of the sword and knives on his hands gave off such a chilling aura. “If it’s a good soul you want, may I give you the honor?”

“Haha! An arrogant one? A naive one who want to sacrifice himself for his friends? A desperate one? Interesting! Which are you?” Mitsuru slurred, drunk on the power robbed from the souls. It was almost like someone got over-dosed on a dangerous drug. “Can’t wait to see!”

Mitsuru bounced to his feet, running toward Saruhiko with a malicious laugh, fingers burning with green electricity. The latter quickly flung to the side, throwing several knives at simultaneously though they were all dodged. As though a cat enjoying playing with mice, Mitsuru took a moment to throw a forceful kick which nearly pierced into Saruhiko’s stomach if not for the sword was there as a blocking shield.

Bang! Saruhiko managed a quick duck again, continued to hurl two more daggers ahead, but they went off target a fair distance away.  Mitsuru smirked and launched himself into a fervent attack, faster and stronger with each passing second,  driving Saruhiko backward with no chance to strike properly except for several knives throwing which all missed just slightly.

“Haha, come one, little one! You’ve gone through the trouble to face me alone, won’t you behave?”

The gap in strength was not terribly tremendous, still it was undeniable that Saruhiko was at a disadvantage. What the heck was he doing? Despite their bitter rivalry, Yata felt a wave of restlessness and uneasiness seeped into his heart as if he was dipped into a frozen lake.  He would refuse to acknowledge it forever and one day more, but it was there, undying.

Yata bit his lips when Saruhiko stumbled a little bit, allowing Mitsuru to land a hard hit on his shoulder. _Shit!_ The physical contact was done! His soul would -

Saruhiko’s soul reflection radiated brightly behind his back. In a confusing moment, everyone was caught off guard, could do nothing but to stare and gasp quietly.

“How lovely...” Mitsuru stood still, dumbfounded. “The most beautiful.”

Floating above a flowing current of delicate flower petals, a flawless glass sphere held inside a radiant dancing blue flame. A single red string hugged around the sphere loosely yet almost lovingly. Pure, strong, and beautiful indeed.

If it wasn’t happening right in front of his eyes, Yata would never, even for a fraction of a second, believe a soul like this belonged to Saruhiko. No way. This was just surreal.

“G-Give me! The most beautiful soul, I need to have it, give me!! NOW!” Mitsuru screamed, killing intent overflowing. Dashing ahead like a shooting arrow, the Strain took a hold of Saruhiko in a flash and immediately started to suck the soul out.

“SARUHIKO!!”

It was maddening, the way Yata wanted nothing but to dart out and stop the attack, to help Saruhiko despite everything. He was, however, dragged back feet and hands by Totsuka, and had the blue King’s sword blocking horizontally right in front of him.

“Let me go! C-Can you see Saruhiko is going die?”

Munakata shook his head. “No matter what happens, no one should interfere, was what he said. Have a little faith, would you?” Then, a flash of a smile, howbeit somewhat forced, climbed onto his lips. “What should happen from now on, you may want to take a close look.”

 _What kind of soulmate are you, letting your Omega endanger himself like that! Aren’t you supposed to protect him?_ Growling, Yata glared back at the center of the battlefield. Wait, it wasn’t like he was worrying about that traitor. He just...

Saruhiko was getting weaker by the seconds, slowly going into unconsciousness to the point of sliding down.  Yata held his breath, waiting for something to happen - whatever magical thing that Saruhiko had planned.

Mitsuru laughed. Crazy, ice cold laugh. “This is it! What would such a magnificent soul taste like? What the things it stores inside? Give it to me, all the feelings, all the memories! Precious, wonderful, let me taste them!”

But nothing. Nothing, except for the horrible sight of Saruhiko falling down to his knees, eyes completely dull and soulless.

_“What about the last 1%?”_

That stupid monkey! He obviously failed!

Why did everyone still do nothing!?

Yata was about to dash ahead again, orders be damned, when suddenly Mitsuru screamed and stumbled backward with a terror-stricken face.

“Wh-what is this?” The strain grunted lowly. “I took your soul. How can you still be alive?! Who the fuck are you?!”

 _What!_ Yata’s eyes widened. All he saw was Fushimi’s lifeless body kneeling on the ground. _What’s that guy talking about?_

Mitsuru stepped back some more, positioning himself in a defensive pose and trying to strike something as if he was fighting an invisible enemy. Whoosh! - To Yata’s utter surprise, a sharp blue beam hurled out from one of the knives pinning on the ground, piercing Mitsuru’s arm.

“W-Wait, don’t come closer! Don’t you care for the souls?” The strain took another step back, only to be pierced by another clear-cut red aura. “No way...they are screaming, no good, no good. Why can’t I control them?” With each step backward of the disturbed man, a knife would become active and stab him somewhere - red, blue, blue, red, blue - not too serious but enough to drive him in further panic mode.

It was like...a perfect computer program.

 _Saru! Incredible!_ Yata stared, dumbstruck.

“Don’t - no, don’t take my pretty children! Give them back, they’re mine!”

The last knife tore into Mitsuru’s ankle, forcing him to fall onto his knees. With a deafening cry, he threw his head back painfully, as if someone was ripping his insides out. Then, colourful light bubbles began to float out of his body before vanishing.

A second later, Saruhiko took a gasp, sharp blue eyes returning to life. By Bandou’s side, Akagi also did the same.

“My, my, Fushimi really is full of surprises, neh?” Totsuka smiled cheerfully, and Yata had no idea why that bothered him so much.

“He succeeded! I’ve received reports about most of the victims becoming conscious at once, no bad sequences found.” The heartless woman informed.

Saruhiko nodded as he signaled some lower ranked blue coats to take Mitsuru in custody. However, as soon as the first special chain being put on his hand, Mitsuru struggled and growled in wild resistance.

“Son of a bitch, you tricked me! You cooked up a thorough plan and vivid imagination to fake the memories! You made me think they were real! How, oh God, how could such a soul even think of those...those things?”

“Ah, are you talking about this?” Saruhiko smirked before whipping out a PDA from his back pocket. When he clicked it, the image of the perfect soul shone in the air, still as breathtaking as before. “I activated it right before you hit me so it rewrote your reflection. Irony, isn’t it? The most beautiful soul in the world can be so easily faked in just under three minutes.”

Mitsuru’s attention was strained against the phony screen, eyes narrowing coldly. “Then, how’s your real soul?” He revolted, fast and strong even after having his source of power ripped off, as if he was not human but a living outburst. Four blue clansmen immediately held him down heavily, pressing all his limbs and head flat to the ground. However, they were half a second too late. With a piercing flash, a small dagger cut through the air and plunged into Saruhiko’s arm, even though the blue had quickly dodged out of reflex.

There wasn’t even a sound when the image of Saruhiko’s soul started to appear behind his back.

Broken glasses, everywhere. Like crumble eggshells. Hovering tiredly in the middle of them was a cracked, fragile-looking sphere. Inside it, a dull azure light drifted slowly around a tiny flickering red fire, close yet didn’t touch each other. Coming from straight above was a thick, almost bulky black rope wrapped itself tightly three times around the orb, splitting cracks as it went. And finally, a fully taut dark red chain pierced all the way through the sphere from the slanting side, breaking the glass shell and meddling in the duo lights.

Yata could only gasp, unable to believe his eyes.

It caught Saruhiko’s attention, somehow. The traitor turned his head away from the blatant display of his soul to meet Yata’s stare. In that fleeting moment, the tiny flame suddenly soared and nearly devoured the blue light, and the ropes and chains shook as they wrung even tighter.

And then, Saruhiko smiled, as he drew the dagger out of his arm, never severing the eye contact, and stabbed the reflection. It slowly shattered in pieces, just like a mirror.

Yata knew that smile. It was the same one when Saruhiko burnt his mark by his own hand.

“It’s just a reflection, but you do realize it looks like you’re destroying your own soul, right?” Mitsuru laughed. “My, my, now that I see you clearly I know who you are! Deary me, how could I fail to notice? That face, that hair, that smile!”

“What are you-”

“You are that person’s masterpiece in the making. I know that you are. Listen, that person used to say to me: “There is a certain beauty in broken things.” I didn’t think the same, but, oh, but how wrong I was!” The strain wriggled so that he lay on his back, head tilting way back to look at Saruhiko, eyes glistening with sick excitement. “I see. The most beautiful, it is. You are.” Hands raising upward, as though Mitsuru wanted to reach out to Saruhiko in a desperate haze. It was the very definition of _madness._ “The world isn’t correctly built for a beauty like this.”

 _That person_ \- there was no doubt, only one man in the world fitted with all the things Mitsuru spilled. Yata swore he could see Saruhiko’s face went paler with each word Mitsuru had said, as though all his blood had drained. And he knew Saruhiko was silent for a reason, because the latter was too busy burying everything, fighting, ever trying to block the haunting memories. Only once had Yata seen that face. It was the night after they had come back from the morgue - dark, stormy night - and Saruhiko had quietly clung to his shirt tightly until the morning came.

This was exactly why he couldn’t let go. Yata thought to himself, _we’re damned,_ as he cut through the crowd to his ex-best friend.

“Saru, snap out of it!” He yanked Saruhiko backward by the good arm. “You have better things to do than hearing this guy’s maniac rant, right?”

“Do not touch me.” To his surprise, Saruhiko flung his hand away almost as if he was burnt. “Go away, isn't your precious hero over there?”

“Hey, don't be so fucking stubborn, you --”

“Fushimi-kun,” Blue aura seeped between them, effortlessly cutting Yata’s words. “You did a very good job. In your style, of course. It's brave and admirable.” Munakata stepped closer to Saruhiko while emitting more aura until it slightly reached the third in command.

“Captain…” As if being received a cure spell, Saruhiko slowly calmed down, eyes downcast and shoulders less tense.

Munakata glanced at Mitsuru, who was still mumbling incoherently and laughing even when being dragged into a van. “I’d like to invite that man into a game of puzzle sometime.”

“Hah? What the hell for?” Yata snarled, displeased by the whole thing even though he couldn’t understand why.

“Don’t you know, Yatagarasu-kun?” Munakata smiled, but it wasn’t directly at Yata but at Saruhiko. “Puzzle is the most fascinating when all the purposefully cut pieces are falling into place.”

“...Tsk, go do your work, captain.” The usual unimpressive face was back, which meant Saruhiko had regained his composure. All because of the blue King. “Guess I'll play with you later, Misaki.” No battle here, yet Yata had already lost.

 _Yeah_ , _Saru, see?_ Yata groaned, _we really are fucking damned._

 

**Q is for Quicksand**

_Everything had changed_ , Fushimi finally admitted it when he stood in front of Munakata’s office door at two in the morning after the death of Suoh Mikoto. He had done his duties - cleaning the battleground, gathering countless reports, and processing the information regarding the chaotic case - all for the sake of not admitting. He told himself he didn’t care at all, but still his body ached in places he didn't know it was capable of aching. He couldn’t even imagine how Misaki would do after this. That being said, he also had no idea what to do now, nor how to face a grieving Misaki.

Totsuka Tatara had gone. Suoh Mikoto was dead. They caused more trouble than they were worth and now everything and everyone was a mess.

But the dead would just drift to the sky to rest while the living had to stumble forward, for one more second, one more hour, one more night, and then -- for the rest of their life.

“Report, sir.” He muttered before kicking the door open. The room was dark, no other light but the moon’s illuminated the man in there.

No immediate response came to Fushimi. Munakata was exhaling a smoke as he stared intensely at the bloody sword - the sword that had killed Suoh. There was a brief war in those cyan eyes, death and blood and fire, guilt and high-strung nerves, but never the King lost his composure.

Fushimi knew better, though.

“It’s just sooner or later,” He threw the pile of reports on the nearest surface, ignoring it for the time being, and sat down on the floor with his back touching the shorter side of Munakata’s table, “that we'd all go down together.”

“Is that what you think, Fushimi-kun?”

“Hm.”

The silence stretched out. It was easy enough to breathe, but at the same time it wasn’t. Tick - tock, tick - tock, no words, just smoke and moonlight filled the room. Unlike Homra’s loud painful laments, this kind of requiem was the only thing they had to offer. And it wasn’t only for the deceased, no, but also for each other.

When the first light of dawn came, a single whisper echoed the room.

“Fushimi Saruhiko.”

Fushimi looked up, startled, yet wasn’t entirely taken back to see Munakata’s eyes on him. They were, for the first and perhaps the only time, asking for a confirm. _You’re alive. You're here._

So he nodded.

“Munakata Reishi.” _You are, too._

The King smiled slightly and let his gaze drift back to the sword. That was when Fushimi decided to stand up and looked directly at it. He traced the sheath carefully, trying to figure out what he wanted to say.

In the end, he could only murmur, “... Suoh Mikoto.”

Munakata closed his eyes, “Indeed.” A smile, nibbled at the edges by melancholy. “For you, it must be Yata Misaki.”

 _Misaki..._ Fushimi would’ve laughed if he could muster up enough strength.

“We truly are a fucked up pair of soulmates, aren’t we?”


	4. Lego House

**R is for Ragdoll**

_“Easy, child, easy.”_

The dream started with a soothing lullaby. It always did.

_“Hush your voice, brave child, the rain is gone, the storms are over.”_

Yata remembered this voice. Sweet, calm, adoring - the voice of his mother. He knew what these words meant, by now. They were lies. No such thing was that convenient. Not anymore.

_“Here in my arm, no one can hurt you, now, or forever. So close your eyes, my dear, dear child.”_

And then, in an empty world where only the whiteness overflow, covered by the faint smell of burnt flesh, the nightmare repeated itself.

He saw them standing there in the middle of this cruel realm, all wearing a rueful smile, like an echo from the far-away time. It was as if his memories hadn’t moved past those bitter days when the important people in his life had gone without leaving so much as a warning.

_“Mikoto-san. Totsuka-san. Saruhiko.”_

Each memory of him with each person appeared briefly, messily, like broken-down scenes from an old black and white movie. They used to be filled with happiness. But now, the strongest reminiscences about them were their last words, their painful departures. As it was, he could only be aware of the fear, the helplessness, the crushing feeling of defeat, the desperate exhaustion, and above all, the utter bewilderment.

Yata glanced at Mikoto. The red King, the hero, the strongest person he had ever known. He thought it was the most incredible gift of fate that brought him to this man. He didn’t think about its meaning, because the joy and pride of being the Homra vanguard were too blinding to question anything further. He took it for granted. He didn’t think twice.

Even when he had caught Mikoto smiling like this more than one time. A sad, resigned smile that didn’t suit the King at all. Why hadn’t he noticed it before? Why hadn’t he understood his own King? Why, even now, he still couldn’t understand?

Just like how it was with Totsuka.

Just like how he lost Saruhiko.

 _“I don’t need you in my world anymore.”_ In his dazed dream, his once-friend’s words came back to haunt him. _“See? There is no such thing as permanent in this world. I told you not to play house and place your happiness, your love, your life in other people’s hands, Misaki, because they can break it. And they will break it. Definitely. Easily. Every-single-damn-time.”_

Images blur in front of his eyes, so much that Yata vaguely wondered if he was crying in reality.

Maybe Saruhiko was right.

Just maybe.

But…

...The person who showed him so many amazing things. The person who gave him a home. The person who always supported him with a kind smile. No matter what happened, he still loved them in the end.

(And because he never stopped loving, it never stopped hurting.)

Yet, he didn’t regret. No. Even though everything fell apart and everyone went away, if he was given another chance to consider placing his happiness in those hands, he would choose to do it again. He would, every time. That was how he differed from Saruhiko, it seemed. It wasn’t like he wished for there to be a reason, he just knew it was the right choice.

Totsuka had said something like that, if he remembered it right.

 _“I think, in the near future, I will be severely punished. For I am a selfish man.”_ Totsuka gave a vague, unreadable smile, eyes glued to the half-empty cocktail. Yata thought that sudden confession was uncalled for, even though he didn’t quite get it. _“King, or Homra, or Homra’s insignia, or these joyful days, they are all my selfishness.”_

_“What are you talking about, Totsuka-san? Are you drunk?”_

_“But, even so, I won’t turn back, nor will I stop. Until the day I can no longer laugh carefreely with you guys, I'll continue to walk the path I've chosen, staying by King’s side even if it means becoming his chain, even if it could lead to misery. Because...this is a kind of love as well.”_

Ah. Why?

Why were all of them always, always, always so far away despite being right _there_? Like illusional birds in the distant gray sky - something he couldn't reach with his two mere hands. Despite all the time they had spent together, he really didn’t know them at all. He was an idiot, alright, so even for the life of him, he found it impossible to understand the true meaning of their rarely seen wretched smiles. The best he could do was to assume.

Saruhiko’s broken soul. Totsuka’s obsession with recording memories. Mikoto’s unrestrainable revenge. They were all so different, and yet, there was something so vaguely, indescribably similar.

Perhaps, to them, existence itself meant loneliness. A terrible, incurable, bone-deep illness.

While Yata was thinking about all that he had failed to see, they were getting further and further and further away, again.

He missed the chance to reach out his hand. Again.

_“Good night, brave child, may joy be with you and kiss your smile.”_

The smell of burnt flesh, of gunpowder, of blood, strangled him. Yata wanted to break free, wanted to chase the fading ghosts of the happy past, but he couldn't move, couldn't even breathe. His throat hurt from screaming, his eyes stung, his lips bled, his chest was deeply scratched. He had been hurt before, but not this bad.

This was the edge of the cliff, with nowhere to escape, no miraculous way out. No hero, no savior. Not anymore.

“ _Sleep well now, for I'll still be here in the morning, and keep everything safe and sound.”_

Even in the midst of his nightmare, he had no choice but to acknowledge that there was nothing left for him to hope for. There remained nothing.

“ _Because, you will never, ever be alone, my lionheart of a child.”_

It felt like dying.

\-------------------------

Looking at the empty couch in the empty bar, with eyes dull and aching, really Yata thought he couldn’t get any lower than this. He was alone in Homra’s base and for some odd reasons, that made he feel alone in the whole universe.

He cursed himself for even thinking so.

“Che… How did it end up like this?” Grumbling to no one in particular, Yata flopped onto the couch in the same manner Mikoto used to have. He noticed it a second after settling down, and had to chew on his inner cheeks as irritation grew inside him. Before, the unintentional similarity in simple actions between him and his King had been his greatest pride, but now it did nothing but bringing a dull throb to his chest, and he found himself wanting to run away from it.

He shook his head, ignoring how his pulse was pounding in his ears for no reason. This was the reality, not some stupid nightmares, so mere memories wouldn't kill him.

And yet…

“Don’t sweat it, everything will be alright somehow.” He whispered to himself, repeating it several times without feeling the meaning of those words reach him. The more he said it, the more he felt like there was a gulf slowly widening in his stomach. Showered by bright sun lights and stabbed by relentless riotous noises of traffic outside, Yata noticed for the first time ever just how _silence_ the Homra bar had become. So silent that he could even pick up some pieces of conversations the happy passers-by were having. Annoyed, he snorted mockingly. “Heh, should burn them.”

...How pathetic, seeking consolation in mimicry, somewhat kind of like trying to look too long at an illusion. Yata shook his head again, dropping the act entirely.

The blazing flame that brought warmth still burnt within him, despite everything. He shouldn’t need any stupid self-make reassurance - he knew it and kept telling himself that.

“But, now what?”

As though answering his question, the doorbell rang one, two times. Turning his head, he saw Kusanagi, Anna and Kamamoto walking in. They look tired, but strangely calm, just like how they had been ever from that day.

“Yo. Where have all of you been?” Yata asked, and if it sounded a little bit like an accusation, no one commented on it.

“I came to Scepter 4 to take care of some legal matters.” Putting down a thick blue file of paper on the far side of the bar counter, Kusanagi offered a small smile to Yata. There was no hesitance nor negative feeling in his voice, as if he was just talking about the weather and not about a trip to the territory of who had taken his King’s life away. It made Yata frown in an instant. “I met Anna and Kamamoto on the way here. Seems like they were coming back from the ramen store.”

“That so?”

“That’s right, Yata-san. They introduce a new product that comes with cute red decoration, so I brought Anna along, thinking she would like it. I called you too, but you didn’t answer your phone.”

Anna nodded quietly, letting go of Kamamoto’s hand to get closer to Yata. With fingers playing with the hems of her clothes, she looked straight at him with her usual doll-like gaze. Nothing in her eyes was different from before. Still the same stare that held the power to pierce into people’s soul. “You should have come with us, Misaki.”

The idea of consuming red food made his stomach churned a little, feeling as heavy as rocks under a deep dry well. For the first time, he avoided Anna’s eyes. “Sorry. Next time I’ll come.”

For several moments, no one said a word. As opposed to Yata’s restless scowl, the other three people remained calm, almost eerily so. Kusanagi lighted a cigarette, a small fire danced in front of him quickly before mercilessly extinguished by a flick of the lighter. The burning tip of the cigarette was the only lively thing in the room, Yata vaguely noted.

No longer able to stew in the stiff quietness, Yata started to talk. “Do you know where the others are? Chitose, Bandou, Fujishima, and other members… It’s been awhile since they showed their dumb face here.” The longer he talked, the more restless he became. Soon, he couldn’t stop himself from spilling his chaotic mind out, like boiling water overflowed from a teacup. “Mikoto-san won’t let Homra be this empty, no way. And Totsuka-san won’t ever let there is even a moment of silence. They aren’t h-here anymore, but it doesn’t mean the end, right? This...this should be the time when we stay together - as Homra clansmen, as comrades! Where the hell are they?”

“Yata-san, please calm down.” Kamamoto regarded him with a strangely somber tone. “I think they need time to think everything thoroughly.”

“Think about what!?” Yata spat, unintentional anger leaked into his voice. He didn’t notice how he was scratching the couch until Anna quietly caught his fingers with one hand while the other twiddling the frill of her dress. “It’s as if they DON’T CARE AT ALL!”

“It’s not like that, Yata-chan.” Kusanagi sighed.

“Then what it’s like?” He was glad he didn’t yell, but that was only because Anna’s grip was tightening. “They shouted and cried that day, sure, and then they left, like without power and a King Homra is nothing now. And you, and Kusanagi-san too. How could you all act so indifferently in this situation? As if it isn’t a big deal at all! Why?”

“Misaki, please stop.” Anna lowered her head, holding Yata’s curling fingers by both her hands now.

Just what’s with everyone? Or was it HIM alone who was acting strange, after all?

“Ah...Sorry.” Yata swallowed a lungful of air. No good, he felt like he was falling. His mind swirled rounds and rounds and he thought he might be sick. “I just… Damn it, am I the only one going insane?”

A crisp “clank” sound rang through the bar, startled him. He looked behind and found Kusanagi’s gaze on him, cool and serious. The beta bartender nudged forward an ashtray, which had just been placed roughly on the counter, and signaled Yata to pay attention to it. It was a fancy glass ashtray, filled to the brim with wasted cigarettes. Next to it was three wine glasses, one was empty and two were half full, untouched. Among them placed Kusanagi’s phone, bright screen, showing a list of contacts.

“Yata, I wonder if you’ve heard this story. Old and simple, but listen.” Kusanagi’s normally soothing voice was low. “Two soldiers went to a bloody war. When it’s over, one could only barely keep himself together, heard voices from the battlefield and saw things that weren’t there anymore. Meanwhile, the other returned to the normal life easily, leaving all the bad things behind with no difficulties at all.”

Pausing for a brief moment to stub out the tobacco that he was having, Kusanagi cracked an unreadable smile. “Now, the question is...Who is the mad one?”

A chill ran up Yata’s spine, spreading all the way to the tip of his fingers, and he couldn’t hold back a terrified shudder. He gulped painfully, trying to swallow the invisible stones stacking in his throat. _Both of them return from a war_ , _so_ _who is actually the mad one?_

Even him knew the answer. Somehow.

Still speechless, he took a double look at everyone and everything, like it was the first time he had ever seen them. The unusual full, messy ashtray. The extra glasses. The dust on the counter. The carefully organized records of Totsuka on the table. The list full of received calls from all of Homra’s members on Kusanagi’s phone. The worn-out edges of Anna’s dress. The out-of-season thin body of Kamamoto. The tired eyes of everyone, framed by faint dark rings.

Ah.

“That’s right.” The bartender took out yet another cigarette, lighted it up, then drew a long lungful. The snapping noises of the lighter sounded like it could tear the air. “None of us is. Or _them_ , on that matter.”

Yata gasped. It felt as if he had just stepped into a completely new and strange world, and he was flooded with both relief and bewilderment at the same time.

“That’s it for today. Now go out and cool your head, Yata-chan.” Kusanagi tilted his head toward the door, knowing full well that Yata needed time to let the realization sink in.

“Ah...yeah.” He nodded slowly, not quite finding his voice yet.

Anna accompanied him to the door, fingers wrapping around his own as though offering a silent support. The words on her left wrist turned upward, clear for him to see. _Thank you for extending your hand to me that day,_ that’s what it read.

“It’s sad, but, we all will be alright.” The girl gave his hand a small squeeze. “Misaki, too.”

Yata stared at her, then nodded in silence. Anna’s soulmate had a point.

“Thank you, Anna.” He cracked a forced smile. It withered a bit when Anna shook her head, wordlessly told him to stop trying to smile for her sake. Her eyes slowly turned downcast, and Yata could actually _see_ the haunting war that was happening in those scarlet orbs.

They stood silently in front of the Homra bar, trying not to cry, and in that moment he wasn’t a prideful vanguard and she wasn’t a mystery, they were just lost children.

One, two, three minutes, then Anna dropped her hand and turned back inside without another word. Yata looked up. The sky looked like it was going to rain.

He took a long, deep breath, and dashed out.

He didn’t know where he was heading to, but it didn’t matter. Run, step forward, even if he was out of breath, run, even if his body felt like it was on fire, move ahead, run.

 _“This is a story full of happiness.”_ He could hear Totsuka’s chuckle somewhere far away, though the sound was shattered by the harsh wind. _“Isn’t that right, King?”_

_“Ah. Whatever you say.”_

“Yeah, Totsuka-san, Mikoto-san! Except, except….” He choked out, ignoring how his lungs crushed themselves and his bones creaked each stride he took. “...except for the fact that it ended in a goddamned tragedy, and now everyone is left alone, and it’s not fucking _worth it_ at all!”

...Except it _was,_ absolutely. He knew, deep down.

Yata felt cold water on his face. Ah, was the rain going down?

Still, he didn’t stop.

\--------------------------------------------

It was still raining when Yata awoke, feeling exhausted and battered, but his mind was oddly clear. Now that he had burnt himself out, he could think properly without having emotions getting in the way.

He was leaning on a chain link fence at the back of an unfamiliar alley that he didn't remember ever running pass. Tall, gloomy buildings stood side by side in front of him, created a faint sense of dangerous aura.

Yata quietly turned his head to the right, somehow didn't really surprised to see Saruhiko sitting there with slumping shoulders. His messy hair dripped with water, soaked blue uniform looked wrinkled and dirty as though it hadn’t been taken off for days. Saruhiko’s face was blank, cold eyes staring ahead at nothing in particular like he was in permanent deep thought.

_“None of us is.” Kusanagi tilted his head, eyes glancing forward the document with the blue cover and Scepter 4’s insignia on it. “Or them, on that matter.”_

Surely it wouldn’t be the case?

“Is that it?”, Yata spoke the first thing that came to his mind, despite doubts leaking into his voice. “So you do still care?”

That, of course, was the exactly wrong thing to say. Saruhiko snapped his head to the side to face him, eyebrows already dipping into a foul frown as he immediately responded with the usual irritation. “How annoying. Do I look like I care in the slightest? Right after Kusanagi-san’s visit, you ran straight into the blue clan’s territory and passed out on the street, in the fucking downpour, no less. You’re just a powerless omega now. Are you planning to frame Scepter 4 for another red clansman’s murder? Don't create more jobs for me, idiot Misaki.”

Icy wetness ran down Yata’s hair and cheeks, and it helped to numb all the anger that he had thought he’d cling onto until the day either of them died. He shifted his eyes away from Saruhiko, couldn't find the strength to take the bait right now. “If you just want to laugh at me, go away. I should have known better than thinking you may mourn Mikoto-san on your own...”

A dry, half-hearted mocking laugh tore itself out of Saruhiko’s throat. He spoke in a strained, unnaturally fast pace. “That’s stupid, I do not have such meaningless personal feelings. For an irresponsible King like Suoh Mikoto, this kind of outcome should be a surprise to no one. In fact, he had dug his own grave for a long time and then just selfishly threw the shovel to another person to do the grand blow. Ah, but you just can’t get it, as usual, huh?” When hearing no reply, the blue clansman took hold of Yata’s chin, forcing him to turn his head back. “Knock it off already, Misaki! No matter how much you pray, the dead can’t come back.”

In his exhausted state, Yata found it surprisingly easy to not listen to those words, to not even be actively aware of their meaning. Still, his left hand moved to Saruhiko’s collar all by conditioned reflex, fingers digging deep into the fabric. “You know nothing about us. Mikoto-san didn’t deserve this. WE don’t deserve all of this.”

“Haa, Homra was--”

“It’s not fair. He saved us. He gave us the power to conquer the world and a home to come back to.”  Yata wormed his face out of the forceful grasping fingers, and rested his gaze somewhere behind Saruhiko. He recognized this feeling. It felt like when he had helplessly run and prayed and frantically looked for a miracle under the rain of rockets and party poppers. “It's not fair that everything should end up this way.”

“Tch! Look at me! Why are you looking somewhere else, Misaki? Who are you waiting for?” Saruhiko growled, eyes wide with growing madness and what might be desperation. “Suoh Mikoto is _dead_. No hero will save you this time, Misaki, no one ever actually does. Everybody is too busy saving themselves.”

“Shut up. I already knew that.” Yata slid down the fence, letting the other loom over him like a shadow. Too tired, too drained, too numb, too sick of everything. Even Saruhiko’s harsh words couldn’t spark a hint of anger - of life - into him anymore. He closed his eyes slowly, as though wanting to shut the world off, and loosened his grip on Saruhiko’s collar.

“Misaki?”

“Go away.”

He heard a low gasp that was a mix of shock and irritation. After a long pause, during which Yata wondered why it existed at all, then his head was suddenly yanked upward and there was a tight force around his left wrist. Under the abrupt disturbance, Yata had no choice but to open his eyes and face Saruhiko. He expected something violent or more sickening taunts coming, but was entirely taken aback by the sorrowful gaze that fixed on him. Saruhiko’s eyes were dark and tremble in waves, like the ocean at midnight, bearing no resemblance to the earlier cynical eyes. It was as if Saruhiko had just taken a mask off.

“This isn't like you, Misaki.” Even his voice turned quiet, almost defeated.

Yata didn't know how to respond to that. It wasn't wrong, but he didn't want to admit it.

Funny enough, he didn't need to.

“Why must everything end up this way, huh? Those men just wanted to take everything down with them, didn’t they? I don’t like change that I can’t control. There had always been just the two of us, but then....” Saruhiko mumbled, too quiet a sound for it to be anything but a soliloquy. But Yata had always had good ears.

“You--”

“Fine. Come chase me when you're done sulking, then.” The weight around Yata’s wrist disappeared as Saruhiko straightened up without warning. He sounded tired, much like Yata himself at the moment, yet the way those words were spoken felt like heavy rocks clattering at their feet. The familiar sound of something being dropped to an abrupt end.

Saruhiko gave one last flat look before turning around. That bastard, he did what he was best at, walking away. Just as easily as he always had done.

“Saruhiko!” Yata heard himself yelling, even though he was the one who had told the other to leave. “Saruhiko…” Unconsciously, he raised his hand a little toward the retreating figure of Saruhiko, who paused for only half a second before going even faster. Just like what he had done in his dream, just like how he had felt in the haze of thoughtless running, there was a raw need to reach out biting on Yata’s fingertips. No matter how absurd it seemed, he wanted to do it so, so, so badly.

The dead couldn’t come back, true, he could never take them back again. But Saruhiko was still so very alive, so if Yata kept reaching out, maybe it wouldn’t be too late.

Right?

 _Maybe. But forget it,_ Yata bit his lips, slowly lowering his hand and placing it on his chest, _at least_ _not right now. He is giving me a chance to think thoroughly and collect myself, I think._ Yata vaguely noticed that Saruhiko hadn’t really acted like himself either. The didn’t even get into a fight this time. Perhaps this was for the best, right? This was what they needed. Silence. Distance. Time to recover from the grief. A calm break from all the painful conflicts.

The last streak of blue disappeared around the corner, and with it, Yata dragged himself to his feet, fingers clutching tight on his soaked shirt right where his Homra tattoo was. He couldn’t help but let out a snort.

“Stupid Saruhiko. You forgot to say ‘Good evening, Misaki’ before leaving. Aren't that your dumb habit?”

Everything felt very cold, but somehow, he felt like something within him had slightly changed, like a tiny light had sparked in his fogged mind.

A shiver run through his spine, reminding him of his drenched state. He closed his eyes, focused on how the chilling breeze licked through his hair and filled his lungs with a rainy, earthy smell.

_“Misaki, when in distress, count slowly to thirty. It should be one hundred, but I know a single-celled idiot like you would get irrationally irritated once you pass thirty three.”_

_“Who are you calling an idiot, idiot Saru!? I definitely can count to one hundred, goddamnit! Now let me go so I can smash that guy’s head!”_

_“You are missing the point by a whole mile.”_

_“Gzee! Fuck! What's the point!”_

_“Start counting, Misaki. One, two, three.”_

“One, two, three,” Yata mumbled under his breath, taking a step in synch with each number. Counted to thirty, then started again from one, repeated. Slowly, but surely, he walked forward with a certain destination in mind.

The red and golden sign greeted Yata warmly. After getting caught by the rain, it almost felt like coming home and sitting in front of the fireplace. He pushed the door open, immediately sighed in relief at the dry, tepid atmosphere inside.

“Kusanagi-san?”

The light was on, but no one seemed to be on the first floor. Everything was still in their place, like time had frozen them. Yata walked over to the stair, figured he should at least check the second floor, since it was unlikely that Kusanagi and Anna had gone somewhere again in such a short time.

In the room that was used to be Mikito’s, soft noises could be heard even through the closed door. Yata was about to turn the doorknob when he caught Kusanagi’s solemn voice. His hand stopped dead and he unconsciously held his breath low as if he was overhearing the secret of the world.  

“I see. Anna, so you, too, knew this would happen.”

“Yes. From the start.” Something in the girl’s answer, maybe the way it sounded so quiet yet held such a strong force that rivaled a painful scream, clenched Yata’s heart so bad he almost choked out a cry. “That’s something they wanted, the wretched path they were willing to take. I know. Even so, it hurts.”

“And yet, you choose to stay with us. Just as they chose their paths.” There was a tremble note in Kusanagi’s tone. “In the end, I guess everyone has the right to stick with their choices, no matter what the consequences may be.”

“Uhm.”

“Just my luck, being surrounded by stubborn idiots. Though I’m no less of one, I guess.”

“Izumo is brave, and strong, and kind.”

“But you, Anna, are the bravest and the kindest, even the strongest, you’re an alpha and you’ll be… No, nevermind.” A small laugh, albeit tinged with melancholy. “You know, sometimes when I look at you, I think of you as the daughter of Mikoto and Totsuka. They didn’t have kids even though they had been together forever. When I asked, Mikoto said that they’d never wish for their children to suffer alone. I think...I get it now.”

“Izumo…?”

“But, Anna, to me, you are their legacy and our most precious princess. From now on, whatever I’ll do, remember that it’s for your sake.”

Yata leaned on the door, still unable to leave. His sharp ears, inherited from his dear mother, didn’t miss a single sound - even the quiet sob that barely escaped Anna’s lips. There was only a slight pause until Kusanagi’s gentle voice picked up a melody. A soothing, familiar melody, that of a lullaby.

“Good night, brave child, may joy be with you and kiss your smile. Sleep well now, for I'll still be here in the morning, and keep everything safe and sound.”

Yata closed his eyes and took a deep breath. That’s right. Everyone was hurt. Everyone was not only trying to save themselves but also doing their best to save each other. We were all in it, this horribly confusing mess - vulnerable, lonely, sad, helpless, but there was nothing wrong with that, because we were only human.

But we were also strong. We held a bond like no other.

A smile slowly formed on Yata’s lips. He still didn’t really understand, but he would not play the part of the fool anymore. Everything that was important to him, he’d protect it till the end, so that there wouldn't be any regret.

“Because, you will never, ever be alone, my lionheart of a child.”

It’s time to grow up.

 

**S is for Saruhiko**

It still felt natural for him to be alone. Like how breathing just came naturally to human. Fushimi supposed it was a good thing.

Cold winds swept through trampled leaves and trashes, green light illuminated the dark alley, and Fushimi found himself counting like a machine. “One thousand, two thousand, three thousand.”

Only two thousand and five hundred points more and he'd advance to U rank. He should hurry up, it had been two weeks since the start of the plan, as in his so-called betrayal.

_“You are used to be a traitor.”_

Or maybe not so-called, after all.

Tsk.

Fushimi bit his lips. Now wasn't the time to dwell on it.

He opened the list of available missions, skimmed through the small missions before going to the top of it where the most difficult ones were usually posted, then accepted seven challenges of different levels at once. Two big, four average, one small. Fushimi supposed Munakata’s blizzard puzzle training had its upsides, since it was surprisingly easy to see the big picture behind all the seemingly scattered missions. They were connected in such a complex way that normal people would never know there even was a connection, even though it was only logical. Hardly anyone could complete the top missions, so essentially the smaller ones were clues or step-to-step produces for the big fish.

Fushimi could gather a great amount of points in such a short time was due to his ability to see the connection and accomplish the biggest mission thank to the clues (deducting the missions’ details without actually doing them), thus getting points for all of them bonus combo. Furthermore, he got efficient support from Douhan and bought her points to double his. An old trick over the cracks of the rules, really.

In that way, even though someone might think the way the green King picked clansmen and handed power was irresponsible, the truth was that very few people could meet all the demands to reach J rank. Small fries were countless, but to be the top required fighting skills, intellect as well as street wit, 24/7 of time, money, information, guts, and most of all, lack of moral standards.

Fushimi snorted at that thought.

_“What do you think about the silver King’s plan, Fushimi-kun?”_

_“It’s awful. Too many risks. If the green King was so generous as to openly announce his time of arrival, I don’t think this stupid buddy-buddy alliance will make it.”_

_“My, always a man of harsh words. Nevertheless, I do agree. Adolf K. Weismann may be a genius and a talented researcher, but he’s by no mean a strategist in warfare matters.”_

_“Well, not like we can talk. Even though I complained I actually have nothing to say and I didn’t see you proposed another plan either, captain.”_

_“Knowing something is bad and having the ability to make a better one, sometimes they do not overlap concepts. What we can do, however, is preparing a backup plan if the worst comes to happen by some unforeseen intervention.”_

_“Tsk. By the sound of it, I guess I’m going to work overtime at an odd job again?”_

_“I’m afraid I have to apologize in advance. It’s the kind of mission that I cannot completely guarantee your safety or your return. Even so, you’re the only one who can do it, Fushimi-kun.”_

_“...Hah?”_

_“In case our plan fails and the Slate is stolen, would you accept the task of using whatever means possible to infiltrate Jungle’s central command?”_

_“Ahh? Why are you asking me this now? So it’s time to pull me out as your wild card? Since I was from Homra, it’s barely plausible enough for a reckless scheme like that to happen. Even my...betrayal is useful for you, huh?”_

_“Yes, your unique history is your immense advantage. On the other hand, you alone possess all necessary abilities and gray morality to complete this mission. Fushimi-kun, I ask of you an unreasonable order, and for that I’m sorry.”_

_“Tsk, such a pain… I’ll think about that. Let’s just hope that the silver King’s grand plan will success.”_

And that was that. Fushimi wanted to slap himself for agreeing so easily without even knowing why. “Go and perform your duties” - he had thought it was that simple - “You have nothing to lose, therefore you have nothing to fear.”

How typical of him for being wrong. Even though he knew it was all a plan, Munakata’s words kept replaying themselves in his head, cutting deeper than any knife. _“You are used to be a traitor. How pathetic. You keep wandering aimlessly in a small world. How pathetic. How pathetic.”_

But then, Fushimi remembered the troubled violet eyes that went hollow at the slightest mention of Suoh Mikoto, the injures carved on Munakata’s body reminding of the horrible defeat under the gray King, the sickening cracks on Munakata’s Damocles sword. He remembered the way the King smoked while working relentlessly through sleepless nights, how his tense shoulders never relaxed under such heavy burdens, how Munakata kept smiling even when it should hurt.

He remembered. All the praises, all the sincere assurances, all the subtle advice.

Fushimi didn’t know what to make out of that mess anymore, so he cast it out of mind and buried himself into another mess of missions and points and green lights. At least this one was easier.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

Fushimi narrowed his eyes at the cafe in front of him. He didn’t like crowded coffee shops in general, but if it was required, he had no qualm walking into one in a Sunday morning. It shouldn’t be a long visit. He just needed to take some illegal stuff from the shop’s owner for delivery.

The coffee shop was unusual, for lack of better words. It was literally a small house jammed in the alley between buildings, roofed over at some point. At first glance, it looked rather small and dingy. However, anyone who paid more than an ounce of attention could tell there was a touch of delicate aesthetics in the outer decoration and fishy things were definitely going on inside.

Looking up at the wooden sign, Fushimi read the shop’s name out loud with a slight raise of eyebrows. “Tango With Destiny? That’s also an unusual name.”

The bell rang twice when he pushed the door open - the same kind of bell they used in Homra, he noted. It seemed to not faze him anymore, and Fushimi didn’t know why he was so surprised at that.

The similarity stopped short. Unlike the fancy yet cozy atmosphere at Homra, the inside of the coffee shop was dim and plain, as if encouraged the need of being anonymous here. Chiavari chairs, an untidy counter, and barback cases containing several rows of coffee powders and cream, they suggested this was a place for drinking coffee though overall it looked like a base for homeless people. There weren’t many people, thank God for the small mercy.

Fushimi looked around and scoffed. No sign of the owner. Well, to be fair, he did come early.

Behind the counter, a young boy waved at Fushimi. He has brown eyes and spiky reddish hair that was brushed away from his face. A high school student, no doubt. “Good morning! My name is Mishina Souta! How can I help you, mister...?”

Great. Another loud, obnoxious idiot. No one asked your name, why did you throw it around? Feeling no mood for black coffee today, Fushimi shrugged, gave the menu a swift look and chose a random drink. “Double shot espresso over ice.”

As soon as the last syllable came out of Fushimi’s mouth, Mishina invaded his personal space with the speed of light, flushed face far too close and bright eyes shone with hope, fingers wrapping around Fushimi’s right wrist as he all but shouted. “A-Are you my soulmate? Are you an omega? I told you my name, so if your right wrist-- ”

“What.” Fushimi cringed, pulling his hand back as if he was burnt. “Heck no.”

“But you said it, ‘double shot espresso over ice’, that’s my mark. So... so if you have a birthmark of last words I can still have a chance, right?” The boy fidget with Fushimi’s other hand in desperation, face utterly dejected. He managed to push the sleeve up, only to be greeted by Fushimi’s wrist band. “O-Uhm?”

“That’s some rude-ass customer service, don’t you think?” Fushimi drawled his voice in irritation and just a tiny bit of dark amusement. “So you want to know, eh?” He tugged the left wrist band up a few centimeters, showing the hauntingly carved sentence on his skin. He had scratched it absentmindedly last night, but not too hard so it only reddened and not bleed.

_I’ll kill you, traitor. You claimed that, but you still hadn’t come after me, stupid Misaki._

_Not that I think you would._

“You…” Mishina stared at him. “What happened to you?”

“Reap what I sow, simple as that. Now, where’s my coffee?”

“Ah...okay, okay.” Finally, the nosy kid shut his mouth and did his damn job.

Fushimi dragged his feet to the farthest table in the corner, the thoughts about Misaki swirling around in his head now that they had been triggered after being caged up inside for so long. They twisted and turned like a goddamned worm on quicklime, crawled deep down in the sewer and climbed up the slippery slope, never gave his mind a chance to truly forget.

“We’d always be together, that’s what I really believed, even though I knew it was nothing but a childish, stupid thought.” He muttered, eyes fixed on both of his wrists that lay tiredly on the table. “But you changed and just kept changing, until I can’t even have your hatred anymore. Nothing but a half-hearted ‘You're the only one that's left’ and a thank you that I don’t want to hear. What should I do with that, Misaki?”

Should he become what he had called himself so persistently and had been called? If he turned into a real traitor this time, would the forcefully engraved last words on his wrist come true? Would Misaki look at him in the eyes, burn him into ashes with storming fire and finally, finally knock the last trait of jumble colors out of him?

...Hah. No. Fushimi knew the answer already.  

In that moment, his PDA’s screen shone brightly - green, green, but the incoming call was from someone whose very soul was pure red.

Misaki was changing, and Fushimi was, too, ever slowly but surely, even if he denied it everyday plus one more. Uncontrolled by his conscious, his lips curled into a ghost of a smile. Misaki hadn’t solely belonged to him for so long and now didn’t hate him the most anymore, yet somehow it wasn’t as hurt as he had thought. As Fushimi stared at the bright screen, an absurd thought of _‘Misaki is calling. Just this is enough’_ jumped into his head. That was enough of a confirmation.

Truth to be told, Fushimi wasn’t even sure if he actually wanted Misaki’s full hatred anymore. In his dreams sometimes, he still held Misaki’s hands with fingers tracing along the redhead’s left wrist, they still put their arms around each other body and never felt more at home. Misaki would smile, would stay for a while and then went away, only to come back again later. Fushimi always knew when he was dreaming, because looking at that Misaki didn’t make his body ache, his scars didn’t itch, he didn’t feel drained or beaten or damaged. Instead, there was just a hint of warmth stubbornly coiling in his chest.

It was a strange feeling that he just couldn’t understand. It terrified him so, so much. However, he kept telling himself that there was no time to think about such things, with his life on a string and the entire world on the gameboard.

All that he could do right now was to stare at the in calling number, bottling everything up and letting it fester.

“Aren’t you going to pick up?” Mishina put the espresso in front of Fushimi, effectively jolting him out of his musing. As if on cue, the call abruptly hang up, returned the PDA to lock screen mode.

“No.” _Can’t._

“Uh-huh. So, since there’s no customer right now,” The boy scratched his cheek, mouth twitching into an awkward smile yet honest smile. “can I talk to you?”

“No.”

“I think I recognize you. Aren’t you one of the blue people who invaded our school last year?”

“Tsk. Do you even understand what ‘no’ mean?” Fushimi said flatly. For some reasons, this kid reminded him of Domyoji and Misaki. A bunch of insensitive dumbasses who couldn’t read the atmosphere to save their life. “Ashinaka high school should change their entrance examination if an idiot like you could get in there.”

“Haha, I get that a lot.” Laughing as if he had just heard the funniest joke ever, Mishina sat down on the chair at the opposite of table. “The boss did say someone with the name Fushimi Saruhiko from Scepter 4 would come today. It’s you, isn’t it? Good morning, Saruhiko!”

“Was from. I’m no longer a member of that stupid organization.”

“Ehh? But someone from Scepter 4 helped me in an incident involved Jungle earlier! It’s not stupid!?”

Fushimi took a sipped of his coffee. Not that bad, but should be better. “Cut the stupid chit-chat and call your boss out here already.”

“She’ll come right after she finished fixing up her wife’s nest. You know, heat and all. So I’ll accompany you until she arrives!” Mishina snickered childishly, though the laugh quickly faded into a wistful expression. This guy sure liked to wear his heart on his sleeves. “Ahhh, I hope my true soulmate would come soon. I’m so exhausted of hoping and then being rejected by beautiful people like you. Kukuri even ran when I confessed to her! It really is no good to have such a general birthmark!”

“Sure. Serious life crisis. My pity.”

“Ouch. That’s a really emotionless condolences. Now I’m glad you’re not my soulmate.”

Be grateful that I’m even talking to you, Fushimi clicked his tongue in irritation. He should have ignored the troublesome boy - seriously wanted to, actually - but something about Mishina’s expressive personality reminded him of Misaki’s too-intense gaze, Hidaka’s hopeful smile, and Domyoji’s carefree laugh. The familiarities stuck in his head, making it unexplainably hard to not seek for more, knowing he might never see those people again.

As if sensing Fushimi’s bad mood, Mishina became thoughtfully silence, eyes dropping down on Fushimi’s hands on the table. He seemed to be torn between curious and concern. Eventually, the boy spoke up  rather seriously compared to his previous behaviors. “What is it about your destiny that you’re trying so hard to change?”

“What?” Fushimi blinked, failing to comprehend for a moment.

“This.” Mishina tapped lightly on Fushimi’s left wrist. “You know, the thing that encourages people to get a tattoo was never for beauty’s sake. It was a wish for change. A sacrifice of enduring physical pain in order to announce ‘I want to change’, ‘I’m transforming’, ‘I’m fighting something’. In your case… It isn’t a mere tattoo, but a self-inflicted mark. I don’t really understand, but I think this place’s name suits you fine. You are...dancing a tango with destiny.”

It was unexpected to hear such a thing from a stranger, much less from a seemingly normal student. Fushimi gritted his teeth, feeling pissed of for no reason. He was about to open his mouth to retort when Mishina suddenly stood up and offered an apologetic smile.

“Sorry! I’m a little nosy, huh? It’s just that I don’t want to have any regrets so I always  think others shouldn’t do things that may end in regrets either. A-Anyway, boss’s here so see you later, Saruhiko!”

Fushimi turned his head around in time to meet the eyes of the coffee shop’s owner, a rather heavily built woman in her thirties. She held two small boxes in one hand and a black bag in the other. They must be the required stuff for the missions.

“I’m sorry for my lateness. Fushimi Saruhiko, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Please to meet you.” The woman smiled. “My name is Sato Misaki.”

“Misaki?” Fushimi couldn’t hold an amused snort. Talk about ironic. “Ah, sorry, Sato-san. I just know a guy named Misaki, that’s all.”

Sato sat down next to Fushimi and began to open the packages nonchalantly as though they totally weren’t illegal goods. To be fair, the mentioned goods were mostly USBs and hard-drivers, which contained confidential politic information and viruses separately but appeared harmless to outsiders. After ten minutes of business talking, Fushimi had to admit that apparently this Sato woman was a sly fox. She knew exactly what she was doing and was able to see through Jungle’s true nature.  

“Unfortunately, around one-third of them have security system too complicated for me to crack. I hope you can somehow resolve that, or it’d be a hit-or-miss mission depending on what Jungle’s King truly wants.” Sato said, pointing at the black bag.  

“No problem. It’s child play for me.”

Without missing a beat, the woman replied easily. “Is that so? Haha, interesting, how I love the type of people like you.” She squinted, looking point-blank into Fushimi’s eyes. It was different from Anna’s or Munakata’s all-knowing gaze, but bore the same intense power that seemed to pierce into other people’s soul. “Your eyes are dull yet rough-edged, you talk with fake confidence, you avoid putting emotions in your voice. I can tell that you are someone who has walked through fire and now is going straight to the mouth of the unknown. However, there are some complicated feelings that are holding you down. You won't be able to advance if you don't acknowledge it.”

Being taken back the second time this morning, Fushimi snapped back coldly. “And just what you want to do with that irrelevant information?”

Sato talked right over him. “To be honest, for business’s sake, I’ve observed you from the moment you began a conversation with Mishina. That boy isn’t the sharpest pencil, but sometimes he can deliver a homerun. Fushimi-kun, you’re dragging your destiny by hands and feet in quite a fierce tango. It could end badly if you don’t give yourself a chance to take a deep breath and actually listen to the music.”

“If you keep talking in senseless figuration and not business, I’m afraid I have to stop listening.”

“My apologize. You remind me of my younger self, so I can’t just leave you struggling with your mind all alone.” Sato tug both her sleeves up and turn her wrists upward, allowing Fushimi to look at...pure white skin.

“Y-You don’t have a mark?!”

“Surprise? Everyone does.” Sato smirked. “Growing up with the unshakable belief that not a single person in this big world belonged to you. Can you imagine the poisonous self-doubt and loneliness?”   

Fushimi did.

In an instant, he felt like being forcefully pressed down deep into the freezing ocean. The illusional icy water was inky black and stuck to his flesh like a second layer skin. He wasn’t sitting at a coffee shop but was huddling under a thin blanket in a cold, cold, empty mansion. He should be alone and there should be absolute silence but no, a terrifying drunken voice kept ringing loudly. “ _Where are you running to, little monkey? Who’re you waiting for? No one would ever come for you. Oh! Are you thinking an alpha would suddenly come and sweep you off your feet? Hey, do you really think you deserve a soulmate? A mark on you, such a waste!”_

But Misaki had taken him away and Suoh had taken him away and Munakata had taken him away and even though right now he had left every single one of them they did come for him. Fushimi forced himself to admit it because the pain was too much if he didn’t. They had come and had pulled him up by the hand, they did.

What would it feel like if there was truly no one to ever be with?

Cold sweat, racing heart, Fushimi knew he wouldn’t like the answer. There were mountains he wouldn’t dare to climb and cliffs he wouldn’t dare to jump. Without knowing exactly how or why, the simple realization gave Fushimi a sudden burst of bizarre feelings. However, his instant reflex kicked in and he forcefully tried to bury it. Not good. Not now. No use realizing stupid things like these or whatever now.

Sato’s voice sounded far away though clear enough to yank Fushimi back to the reality. “Don’t bite your lips. Blood in your mouth won’t make a good lunch.”

Blinking several times to collect himself, Fushimi let out a breath he had held long enough to cause physical pain. “...But, you have a wife?”

“My wife isn’t my soulmate. Her soulmate already died under her own hands. They had a terrible life and a terrible relationship. Their first words to each other were dehuman insults true to their marks. I’m a beta and she’s an omega, I have no mark and she only has pain, we fumbled a long path with destiny. But in the end, it doesn’t matter.”

Fushimi turned away just for the sake of not wanting to show his face. “...Your barista sure doesn’t think soulmate thing doesn’t matter.”

“Mishina-kun? That boy is fighting his fate very bravely too, in a different way. He wants to live his life fully before time’s up, that's something admirable that you seem to lack.”

“... I don't care.” Fushimi didn’t want to know more, having enough of human interaction for the day. He drunk the rest of his coffee and prepared to leave. “It’s late, I need to go now. Thank for the goods.”

“Just a moment, Fushimi-kun.” Sato pulled a card out of her purse and carefully placed it in his hand. It’s a business card of a nearby tattoo shop. “My wife’s. I think maybe one day you’ll find it useful.”

Fushimi had no idea what should be useful about a tattoo shop, but took the card anyway.

“May God be with you.” Sato bid him goodbye with a final light wave of hand.

“I don’t believe in God.”

“I see.”

“Hm? No objection?”

“Why should I? People will only believe in what they choose to believe. Well then, may whoever you consider your absolute existence be with you.”

Fushimi turned around to hide his annoyed scowl. “That’s ridiculous.”

Mishina waved at him from the counter, bright smile still creating a strange deja vu. “Goodbye, Saruhiko! Come back next time for another double shot espresso! It's my specialty, if you can't tell!”

\---------------------------------------------------

_“Saruhiko, I believe in you.”_

Somehow, Anna’s words were the first thing Fushimi thought about when he opened the gate of Jungle’s central command’s room.

That night of his defection, as soon as Fushimi had found a quiet place to rest, his share of Anna’s marble had shone a gentle red, showing that the young strain had been reaching out to him. He had guessed Anna would ask some typical questions along the lines of ‘Where are you?’, ‘Why did you betray Scepter 4?’, ‘What will you do from now on?’.

She didn’t. Then again, Anna was Anna and she was everything but typical.

_“Saruhiko, I believe in you.”_

_“...”_

_“You always have your reasons. That’s why...my faith won’t waver.”_

_“...”_

_“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your whereabouts. As it is, everyone is really worried. Misaki was angry, but he was crying.”_

_“...”_

_“ It’s okay. I’m alone right now. No one else can listen to our conversation, that I can assure.”_

_“...Don’t call me anymore, Anna. Even with your power, it’s not safe.”_

_“Uhm. Please, be careful.”_

_“Tsk. Don’t talk that way. I’m just a traitor doing what a traitor do, betraying Homra or betraying Scepter 4 isn’t that different.”_

_“Saruhiko. To me, you don’t have to lie.”_

_“Your power is pretty convenient, huh? Whatever. Go take a rest already. I’m going to shatter this marble.”_

_“Uhm. You’ll be fine, and all of us will welcome you with a smile when you come back. I pledged this to you as the red King.”_

_“...Sorry. This is goodbye, Anna.”_

Really, now. Red Kings were nothing but troubles. Fushimi snorted at the memories as he started to hack into Jungle’s system.

Green, green, but his self-made hacking app was blue with tints of red. Fingers working on two separate keyboards, eyes casting back and forth among six screens, Fushimi knew that by doing this he was letting death creeping up his neck. Though faced with the cruel reality, strangely enough, he didn’t feel even a thread of fear.

Just when had he gotten this brave, Fushimi wondered. When had it felt right for someone like him to keep fighting a battle he couldn’t win by himself instead of running away?

Why?

The answer was playing hide-and-seek with him. No matter how much he thought about it, his mind came up blank.

Just, why?

Maybe it was because Jungle’s goal nothing more than a doomed dream and Fushimi didn’t agree with it. The green King, while no doubt a genius, seemed to have the “innocent malice of a child”. In short, Hisui was a bad child stuck in an adult’s body with a too-smart brain. He couldn’t tell right from wrong and acted maliciously in order to obtain what he thought was fine without considering any consequences or everyone else’s feelings - yes, somewhat like _that man._

Or maybe it due to something simpler, like Fushimi wouldn’t feel contented at all if he failed his mission. It was an order. He hated failures, after all. It’d do him no good to hold on awful annoyance for the rest of his life.

Sato’s uncalled-for little push floated up in his head a little. The importance of relationships and fighting destiny for happiness or something. Hah. Right.

Sighing heavily, Fushimi compressed a detailed blueprint of Jungle’s base and sent it anonymously to Adolf Weismann, Kusanagi, and Munakata. Knowing that everyone must see the all too obvious green pillar and should be heading to Yomito gate right this moment, Fushimi immediately worked on unlocking the gate as well as running a program to jam all security systems throughout the underground basement. Since he didn’t know what plan everyone was having, these were the only support he could offer.

Barely a minute passed when the marble he kept in his jacket’s inner pocket shone brightly, bringing Anna’s delighted voice to him.

“Thank you, Saruhiko.”

“...Hm.”

Fushimi still didn’t really understand why he did all these. However, as he heard an ominous noise like wings flapping behind him, he had a knack that he’d know soon. And he was already strong enough to accept it.

That was, if he somehow could crawl out of this bloody hellhole alive.

 

**T is for Treasure**

It felt like both a beginning and an ending, so Yata decided that it could be both. His hands were numb, his feet gave up on him like he had run ten thousand miles barefoot in the snow, there might be blood running down his forehead, and yet he couldn’t stop laughing.

“Man, you really have perfected the art of pissing me the hell off, Saruhiko.”

Said man kicked him in the knee, though no actual strength came from it. Saruhiko was just as exhausted and bruised, dark hair falling all over the place and caught by the winds. He sat down next to Yata, eternal scowl pasted on the guy’s face, though his tone was weirdly fond. “Well, if you brain-dead trouble-maker weren’t trying to get us all killed, I might not need to waste my energy to fish you out of the boiled pot. I should throw you into jail for being against officers on duty.”

“Sooooorrryyy~ I keep forgetting that we aren’t that strong anymore.” Yata groaned. After a brief second, he decided to push his luck. “Yeah, get me arrested or whatever, I’ll rope you in the quod and steal your jail key, and then maybe you jerkface will FINALLY start TALKING to me.”

On cue, Saruhiko shifted his eyes away. “I am talking to you.”

“Yeah, but not in the way you promised. I saved your sorry ass from the green, you should at least keep your damn words.”

“Tsk. It just can’t be avoided, huh.”

“What the hell, _you_ were the one who offered to talk! Still not a word! It has been over a month!”

“Tsk…”

Ah, it began. He vaguely sensed the change in Saruhiko’s aura - just barely, but he was happy he could slowly re-learn how to read his friend once again. Yata saw the distant hesitance in Saruhiko’s eyes, tight tension on his lips, something must be trampling over his mind as the words stuck on the tip of his tongue. This had happened several times after Saruhiko’s return, whenever they so much as starting to talk about their problems.

In the past, Yata would definitely get furiously impatient and started a fight, wanting to physically rip those stubborn words out of Saruhiko’s mouth. But now, he knew painfully well that doing such a thing would undoubtedly end in an unwanted wound on their gradually-healing tattered bond. Thus, even though patience was never a virtue he possessed, Yata only rested his head in his curled up knees, locking eyes with Saruhiko and waiting in uncharacteristic silence.

He was done playing tag and hide-and-seek. He had enough of worrying sick as well as musing over and over in hope of understanding (had never got it until the very last moment, albeit just a glimpse). Now that he got Saruhiko back alive and breathing, he wouldn’t hesitate to reach out anymore, wouldn’t be scared to admit his true feeling. He knew what it was, after all, this stubborn feeling never died down or fade away no matter what.

Yata was trying his hardest and he knew Saruhiko was trying too, and that was what really mattered.

Finally, after what seemed like years, Saruhiko made a soft noise that sounded like a resigned sigh before muttering barely audible. “It’s hard to tell it the way you can understand. And I don’t know where to start.”

“How about from the fucking beginning, you moron?”

“You wouldn’t be able to handle such a long story.”

“Don’t underestimate the amount of free time that I have when it comes to you.”

“Well,” Saruhiko drawled, “free time is the luxurious thing that _I_ don’t have.”

“Then you better spit out your fucked up story _fast._ ” Yata retorted with a slight scowl, then softened his voice a little as he earnestly sought for Saruhiko’s hand. “I told you, I’m an idiot, right, but I’m not that dense. I know you care, I know you show your true feelings sometimes through actions, so.. if you tell me, I’ll understand. I really, really want to understand, Saruhiko.”

The blue clansman - yeah, blue clansman and completely fine and loyal and amazing that way, Yata confirmed once again - turned his palm upward, allowing Yata to intertwine their fingers. A breath of melancholy escaped Saruhiko’s lips like an out of season chilly wind in the middle of spring.

“It was like this, back then. We were just two children in a small simple world, you held my hands like I was worthy enough, and I thought I’d be fine to live that life forever.” Lifting their joining hands up slowly, Saruhiko brought the back of Yata’s hand to his chest. Yata felt quick heartbeats resounding in his veins and realized the other was nervously trying to speak in raw honesty for maybe the very first time. “But then, you saw a bigger world full of wonders where you belonged, but I was still living in a haunted house. You adjusted your grip on me with eyes looking away, and the ghosts whispered to me that you were letting go so it’d be better if I tore my hand away myself before you did.”

Yata sucked a lungful of air, scared that he might have been choking on the bitter sadness in his throat. “I was happy, too, being with you in our middle school years. When we joined Homra, I thought you’d be as happy as me, having the power to show the world that we weren’t helpless omegas and wearing pride as Mikoto-san’s vanguards. But you started to act all distant and annoyed. I didn’t know how to handle you anymore...but I didn’t ignore you, I didn’t abandon you! I just… I guessed I was wrong. I should have known, since your...family circumstances, I didn’t really understand, but...”

“No.”

“H-huh?”

“No,” Saruhiko closed his eyes, suddenly sounding very weary. “it’s not your fault, not entirely. I’m sorry if it sounds that way.”

Yata felt Saruhiko’s fingers tremble in waves, so he tightened his grip, refused to let go. “Keep going.”

“There were many reasons, Misaki. Most of them will make you mad as hell. You’ll hit me since you’re able and we’re going to beat each other up again.”

“Heh. Definitely. Shoot, anyway.”

Saruhiko gave a cynical smirk. “What would you do if I tell you that the Homra under Mikoto-san’s rule sucked? That you fitted in there but really, it was just an unreasonably irresponsible, chaotic, arrogant street gang in and of itself?”

“Brace yourself.” Yata hissed right back, feeling the familiar anger yet mixed with some strange feeling coiled at his stomach. Many complicated feelings, actually, but none of them was hatred. “You always manage to strike a nerve, asshole.” He spat out with a haughty smirk on his lips.

His fist made the first contact with Saruhiko’s stomach. Yata didn’t know where his second punch landed, but he sure as hell seeing the killer hook going for his jaw. They both jumped up into the fight, hands and feets and teeth and raw emotions.

“So you hated HOMRA! You saw all the flaws! Hah!” Yelling on top of his lungs, Yata dashed forward for a high kick, which Saruhiko easily blocked with one hand.

“That’s right, Mi-sa-ki! You’re too much of an idiot to look pass Mikoto’s showy power to see them!” A sweep kick went straight to Yata’s ankle, forcing the redhead the backflip to dodge in time. Saruhiko didn’t miss a beat, immediately threw a punch ahead.

Yata grasped the other’s wrist and used all his strength to flip Saruhiko over. “I’ve heard you repeating it over and over the past years like a goddamned broken record already! Damn it, now I can see your points but DON’T BADMOUTH MY CLAN GODDAMNIT! Now would you mind fucking tell me why THAT made you put on such a dramatic show of leaving?”

“I didn’t fucking PLAN it! I told you I joined Scepter 4 and YOU called me a traitor first! I figured it’s a nice brand to wear so you wouldn’t forget me, isn’t that right, MISAKI?” Saruhiko grunted, taking advantage of Yata’s temporary shock to bounce back and kicked him slamming against the wall. “I didn’t want Homra’s mark in the first place so it’s convenient to burn it anyway.”

Blood ran down Yata’s arms, yet it didn’t hurt as much as his heart did. He waited for the moment Saruhiko charging at him to strike a straight hit, crashing Saruhiko’s glasses away. “Well SORRY, I couldn't control my temper when my best friend LEFT TO THE OPPOSITE CLAN WITHOUT TELLING A FUCKING EXPLANATION!”

“Gzee. Don’t call your terrible anger issues something cute-sounding like just losing temper.”

“Not the point!”

“Tsk! Well, I tell you now.” Squinting his eyes dangerously, Saruhiko grasped Yata’s sleeve and wrestled him down.

Yata could feel Saruhiko’s heavy, almost choked breaths above him, and decided to stay still for a moment.

“It’s because I hated the stupid house-play vibe of Homra. Because Suoh Mikoto was just a scary beast with an unfair power. Because I couldn’t consider him my King, only able to look at you and wondered what it would be like to proudly call someone your King. Because I didn’t belong, never felt belong or welcomed or useful there. Because you were so absorbed in them you never understood me anymore.”

Saruhiko glared at him for a moment, eyes full of sadness and resentment, then slapped Yata twice for good measure. It wasn’t really hurt, more like a rather harsh cheek clapping. Yata took hold of Saruhiko’s hands, hissing to urge him to continue talking.

“... Because the green King used the ghost of that old man to trick on me to leave Homra. Because Munakata Reishi came and he was the one I could actually see as a King - that’s what you said to me, isn’t it? - Munakata is my King and my soulmate and even though I wanted to be your soulmate at that time it’s the only sensible choice to just...go.”

Yata yanked the other’s collar down by both hands, intense enough to pass it as a stranglehold. “Saruhiko…Why didn’t you tell me? If you did, I would not have to hate you for years like that. And you acted like a madman whenever we met, I couldn’t even begin to comprehend why and kept stubbornly clinging to the belief that you’re just a filthy traitor when you’re not, Saruhiko, you’re not.”

“Shut up. Shut up, Misaki. You were supposed to hate me. If I acted like _that man_ then you would hate me and never forget me! I had to go anyway, it’s inevitable, so why not made the best out of THE BETRAYAL? It could get me a few glances of yours away from Mikoto-san, at least.”

Saruhiko’s weight rapidly intensified, pressing on Yata’s legs and torso like a sharp, oppressive anchor. Unable to refrain himself, Yata sent a harsh blow to Saruhiko’s face, strong enough to make the latter couch out some drops of blood.

“Oh yeah? And just what did you think I feel all those years? Mikoto-san was someone I deeply respected, so what, he was my King! You said not a fucking thing but lies, provocation, and creepy obsessive stuff, of course I would hate you. It hurt like hell when it shouldn’t be that way at all if you just CRACKED YOUR SHITTY MOUTH OPEN!”

“It’s not that easy.” Saruhiko elbowed him right back in the jaw. The sudden force pushed Yata’s teeth clashing together, making blood drip from there. “You were hurt? Over me? That’s the fucking point!”

“Screwed up asshole! For God’s sake, WHY?”

“You don’t understand a thing about me, Misaki, so wasn’t that the easiest way? No, that’s the only I could do, since your hatred was the only thing I had left.”

“Fucking damn it!” Growling in absolute irritation, Yata rolled Saruhiko over with much more force than necessary, pinning him harshly on the dirty ground. They both might get broken bones over this but it didn’t matter. “I don’t understand a thing? Yeah, guess what? Listen. You lie all the time. You never really believe in other people. You always smirk so scarily when we fight but you probably just being self-loathed. You’re stubborn, obstinate, detached, cold. You’ve acted like lost child ever since we had met until now. And yet…”

Yata lowered his head, feeling his eyes stingily hot and wasn’t afraid to let his tears stream down freely on Saruhiko’s forehead. There was a big lump in his throat, but his voice was firmly clear. “And yet, you do care about people even if you rarely show it and show it reluctantly, unable to bring yourself to accept a simple thank. You do really amazing things even though you say they’re easy - they aren’t, by the way. You’re brave, and interesting, and really, despite all the shits you pulled I could never truly hate you, Saruhiko, not even a second. I could never forget you, either. More than soulmates or clans or Kings, nothing can replace you.”

“Even more than soulmates or Kings? Hah...really, now.” A single slender finger swept across Yata’s cheek, taking away a few teardrops. Yata was mildly surprised by the fact than he could see through the tears than seeing Saruhiko’s reddened face. “Well, didn’t you say your most important person was Anna?”

“You asked ‘Who’re your most important person to you _right now_ ?’, so obviously, it was Anna. Well, maybe King was another matter...I can’t put you two on a scale, but hey, I bet you’d think the same about me and the blue King. Still, I was saying that you’re my most important person _ever_ , idiot.”

“Idiot don’t get to call other people idiot.”

“I’m pouring my heart out to you here and that’s all you have to say? Gzee, shut the fuck up.”

Saruhiko grinned, one hand circling around Yata’s shoulders and the other rest on the back of his neck. “Make me.”

Yata stared at the man beneath him. Damaged, broken, always a dark mystery, a huge jerk, and a headache actually. As abrupt as an earthquake, Yata realized this human version of a contradiction mess was everything he needed and wanted and longed for.

“Brace yourself.” Yata whispered. His head lowered, uncontrolled by his fuzzing brain. All he knew was that Saruhiko wasn’t running away, wasn’t turning away, wasn’t looking away.

The way their lips met midway felt like a vow. The kiss that came from two imperfect people tasted salty, spicy, metallic, and just _perfect._

“D-Don’t you dare to think this is the end of our talk, Saru.” He breathed into the corner of Saruhiko’s mouth. “You still have the rest of your fucking long novel to tell.”

“We’ll see.”

“ You’re stuck with me either you want to or not. Which you better want to, dumbass. Give me all your broken pieces, dumbass. You can fix a kotatsu or whatever but it’s my turn to fix your soul now. Pieces by pieces, steps by steps.”

Saruhiko snorted. “So sappy, though your lack of vocabulary is showing.”

Misaki ignored the flippant remark, smile dancing on lips fondly. “I won’t let the blue King take over that job any longer. Yeah, you belong to the blue clan but you belong with _me,_ I won’t hand you over on that field. Fuck the soulmate system, I don’t care anymore.”

“Hah. Someone used to tell me whoever you consider your absolute existence is your God. In that case...Munakata is my King and you are my God, Misaki. I may die for him, but I’ll live for you.”

“And you called me sappy.” Yata heard a small chuckle above his head, its echo touched the tip of his hairs. Warm chest under him vibrated with each little noise, infecting him with its rarely happened joyful power.

Yata looked up just in time to catch the tail of Saruhiko’s brief smile. “Yeah. You’re always the stronger one, Misaki. There’s should be nothing that you can’t fix, even a soul.”

“Heh. Damn right.”

“Take care of me, then.”

“Don’t I always?”

 

**U is for Utopia**

It was very easy to become the people you hated but somehow way trickier when you tried becoming someone agreeable - or at least normal, thought Fushimi as he stared at the colorful rows of flowers in front of him.

Things had been kind of...weird lately. No, for the record, weird things had been happening ever since the day he had limped back to Scepter 4 from the Jungle’s base, which was around four months ago. After a rather embarrassingly emotional talk about their half-fake argument, Munakata had doted on him even more than before, trying to shower him with praises and gifts. Awashima became such a mother hen, always had to make damn sure that he got enough this and that before letting him work. The entire special squad also acted like they were his long good friends or something (okay, Fushimi may possibly accept the “long” part, but “friends”?)

Anna, now a normal girl in term of superpower, often paid him visits for education purpose, though half of the time she just wanted to have fun and a nice chat about her newfound soulmate (Fushimi had almost hit his head when learning that it’s the evil green kid). Kusanagi invited him to Homra’s bar every once in a while, to which Fushimi declined at first but Misaki eventually dragged him there more often than not. To his surprise, he found it pretty easy to breathe in the bar even when Misaki wasn’t around.

Talked about Misaki…

Though tangled in the mess of Slate’s after-destruction and pulled around by their Kings, they could still somehow settle down. Even more or less passed off as...partners? (Fushimi sure as hell wouldn’t call them lovers). The process wasn’t easy, by all means. The past four months, they spent it on constant fighting, yelling, talking for hours, breaking public property, cooperating in dangerous events, saving each other, along with -- well, kissing and cuddling and moving in together. Basically just blindly fumbling over how to be in a...relationship? Fushimi didn’t know what to do most of the time and Misaki was only slightly better. But Misaki was also earnest, kind, forgiving, always came back and always left a chance at the door.

The thing was, Fushimi had seen darkness for so long, when people gave him the light he couldn’t quite handle it.

The same thing was happening right now, when he stood dumbly in front of a florist, considering whether or not to buy something for Misaki. He had only ever bought knives, junk food, heat suppression, so when it came to flowers he was utterly unable to make out what it was. Perhaps the delicate petals would immediately wither the moment they were touched by his fingers.

In the end, he turned around with empty hands, deciding that flowers were overly out of character for him anyway.

“Two minutes late, Saru!” Misaki greeted him even before Fushimi fully walked into the newly opened trendy bar. The redhead had suggested this way back, however only now they found time and a convenient bar. The agreed plan was that at 8 p.m Misaki’d come to the bar from his sports store by skateboard and Fushimi’d came from Scepter 4 by their car.

“Good evening to you too, Misaki.” Fushimi raised an eyebrow, noting the slight redness on the other’s face. “Already drunk?”

“Hell no! I’ve just taken a sip. It’s just too hot here. Even you look flushed...and exhausted, actually. Did you eat dinner?”

It truly was a hot day, so Fushimi shrugged the topic off easily. “I did. Any drink recommendation?”

Misaki looked at the menu for a moment, then grinned. “Try Corpse Reviver.”

“That’s a lame joke.” Fushimi ordered a plain simple Martini, silently praying that this time the bartender wouldn’t ask if he was their soulmate.

Sitting in a trendy bar, drinking alcohol, talking with Misaki over nothing and everything, Fushimi felt strangely pleasant yet slightly scared at the same time. He wasn’t used to having this kind of carefree, enjoyable moments - still wasn’t used to have pleasant feelings at all. Fushimi was aware of how precious Misaki was to him, and it was indeed scary how much he trusted the redhead and had grown to accustom of having him back in his life again.

Luckily, his second Martini took Fushimi’s irrational anxiety away. He started to laugh a little at Misaki’s another attempt at lame joke. Yeah, it was okay like this. He was okay, they were fine. Their bond was there right from the start, never broken, only tested.

By the third drink, Misaki began to ramble. “And then Anna said, ‘Even though my mark is of the last words, I had a little power intact at that time so I knew that Sukuna was my soulmate. I offered a hand to him and said ‘ _There you are, I’ve found you’_ , it’s exactly the same words on his right wrist.’ Man, can you fucking believe it Saru?”

“I know. It’s odd. Both of them are alphas, it shouldn’t be. However, since this is Anna we’re talking about, there’s no doubt.”

“She said nature always has exceptions... or something along the lines. I can’t remember.”

“Hm. I guess that’s true.”

“To be perfectly honest,” drumming his fingers on the table, Misaki smiled sheepishly, “back then, sometimes I thought Anna was my soulmate. I freaked out so hard you can’t even imagine.’

To say Fushimi was shockingly alarmed was an understatement. “Pardon?”

“W-Well, she’s an alpha, she has last-word soulmate mark, she like red aura and Homra, she’s the only one besides you and my family to call me by my first name and it feels okay. What was I supposed to think?”

“That’s too creepy for a virgin, Misaki. Or just creepy in general.”

“Shut up!”

After teasing his flustered partner to hell and back, Fushimi made a vaguely disgusted face that implied he had just remembered something unpleasant. “I admit, I thought Domyoji might be your soulmate, having the matching core. You’re incredibly lucky that he has caught someone else recently. Dodge a real bullet there, Misa~ki.”

“Who?” Misaki frowned. “That name sounds familiar, somehow. Must have heard it from the blue’s dumb sword drawing thingy.”

“No shit. It’s the stupid, hyperactive, heedless, actual five-year-old redhead with an irritating whishy-washy attitude who does whatever he wants whenever he feels like it. So basically, Scepter 4 version of you.”

“HEEEEY!”

“Heh~”

Fushimi denied the fourth glass because his head went a bit fuzzy, which was never a good thing.

“Are you okay? Should we go home?” Despite acting dangerously close to a drunk ass, Misaki apparently was quite sober.

“...I overestimated my ability to hold liquor. I don’t think I can drive.”

“Calling a cab, then?”

Under any other circumstances at any other times, Fushimi would say yes in a heartbeat. However, the alcohol dulled his mind and by consequence his guarding walls, making him want to be honest with himself - with Misaki, for just tonight, because everything had been fine and pleasant and even though it felt strange he didn’t want to let it go just yet.

Ah, really, he hadn’t planned this at all. This was highly out of character, thought Fushimi as he pulled Misaki’s head down for a chaste kiss. “I know a hotel nearby.”

If anything, the bright blush and sudden flood of desire that overflowed his partner’s eyes were more encouraging than any stupid wine.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Lips were on Fushimi even before he properly closed the door, then they left just as quick with a small smooch sound. Misaki’s cheeks and ears were completely red, like a blooming camelia.

...Maybe beautiful flowers would wither under Fushimi’s touch, but while Misaki was beautiful, Misaki wasn’t a delicate flower, was he?

“Misaki.” Fushimi carefully lifted the redhead’s left wrist up, placed a soft kiss on the back of said hand. He swallowed his own uncertainty to look into Misaki’s amber eyes, breathing in a low voice filled with long-suppressed desire that surprised even himself.  “You should know what you’re getting into by now. We aren’t that drunk, no heat for excuse. Is this what you really want?”

Misaki’s smile was never more determined, tinged with only a tad of embarrassment. “Yeah, you have no idea, Saru. But only if you want.”

“For far too long.” The words ended up being purred into Misaki’s ears without his total control, and for once, Fushimi didn’t regret his running mouth.

Misaki’s fingers moving down Fushimi’s arms, hands circling around his waist. Those small yet strong hands, ever since the day they met, had always been so warm and inviting. Fushimi pulled the other closer with a sharp tug, leaning down for a searing kiss. His hands were already clammy, his blood stewed underneath his skin, and it had nothing to do with the weather.

They made their way to the bed in a gentle yet increasingly fast pace, as if performing a waltz dance only more messy. By the time Fushimi fully pushed his partner down the mattress, their lips had turned pinkish puffy and Misaki’s shirts had gone. He was about to pull back to unbuckle the belt next when Misaki took hold of his nape and yanked him up, looking straight into his eyes.

“Saruhiko, take your fucking knives off. All of them.” Misaki growled.

That should be an easy enough demand. Despite the fact that Fushimi never left all his knives out even when sleeping, or he always kept at least two in reach when bathing, he thought he would do it fine. After all, this was Misaki being with him.

Yet, there was a lump in his throat that wouldn’t go away. Even when he tried to focus on keeping Misaki’s intense gaze, even when his suddenly tremble fingers fumbled to drop harness after harness, the instinctive feeling to run because he was being exposed to vulnerability made it hard to breathe.

Perhaps Fushimi had taken quite a long time to take the weapons off. When he was down to the last two knives on his shoulders, his balance was abruptly tipped off by a strong grab, in a second the position was reversed and now he was the one who lay flat on his back. Misaki wasted no time to climbed over him and snatched the leftover knives away, carelessly throwing them somewhere on the ground.

“Too slow.” Misaki stuck his tongue out childishly, face burning but eyes gleaming with excitement. “It felt like watching a...s-striping sho-show. I can handle this much but not that embarrassment, o-kay?”

If Fushimi’s mind was clear enough, he would make some joke about how a stuttering virgin like Misaki even knew the existence of stripping show much less what happened there, but he could only let a startled breath out as Misaki’s fingers slipped into the hair at his nape and pulled his head back a little. The moment his throat was bare, a pair of chap lips clamped on it, sucking softly with a slight hint of teeth.

“Saru.” Fushimi felt Misaki’s hands working on taking all his clothes off and sliding over his exposed skin, impatient hands almost grasping instead of caressing. “About you, I lov--”

_This is Misaki, and yet._

Fushimi clasped both of Misaki’s wrists, and with a forceful spin, he drove the latter down, reclaiming his previous spot. He knew he was trembling in small waves by now, but still, his hold on Misaki’s hands wouldn’t come loose.

“Saruhiko?” The redhead finally seemed to notice that something was off. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” Fushimi tried to swallow. No luck. “Tsk. I d-don’t know.”

“Calm down. Count to thirty.” Sitting up slowly, Misaki pressed his forehead against Fushimi’s since his hands were occupied. “One, two, three.”

“Okay.” Fushimi muttered, eyes closed tightly.

He tried to find the source of this uneasiness in the process of recollecting himself. Everything should have been fine. He actually wanted this. He knew the basic, not that grossed out. He wasn’t afraid of sex and definitely wasn’t afraid of Misaki. So what might be…?

The memory from when he had been standing in the flower shop came back. Yes, it was that feeling, but much stronger, enough to give him nervous nausea. That incapacity of comprehending how to deal with such a foreign field as love and acceptance.  

How should he? All he had ever learned from ‘love’ was how to either cling too tightly or burn everything down. Everything he knew about survival was that he must show no weakness to everyone. The only way he might accept something being in his life was that it must be permanent and wouldn’t hurt, wouldn’t hurt.

“Saruhiko? It’s okay, it’s just me.” Misaki whispered. “I got your back. There’s nothing to worry about.”

He wasn’t used to this kind of things at all. He would, though, eventually. It must take time, but Misaki was here and somehow it already felt okay, he could manage it.

“Sorry. It’s just hard to deal with...strange emotions at times.” Fushimi mumbled, opening his eyes to gaze at Misaki’s honest face.

“And that’s why you gotta feel things more, stupid Saru.”

“Tsk.”

“Do you want to continue?” The slight edge of nervous slid into Misaki’s voice. Fushimi wasn’t sure if it was the old blushing awkwardness or disappointment or encouragement.

Still, he nodded.

“T-Take me, then? I think you’ll feel better if you’re in control. I don’t know what to do anyway...I mean I got a little carried away earlier but I don’t...argh, you get the idea!”

“I’m fine now. If you want--”

“Liar. Mah, I said it’s fine. I want it. I’m yours whatever way.”

The offer burnt like a warm smoldering bonfire, and Fushimi found himself sank into a deep kiss, this time feeling nothing but light-headed happiness. He lowered down slowly, laying Misaki’s back to the bed and loomed over him closely like a shadow. “Okay.”

It was slow at first, just feather light touches and trace of tongue. Fushimi pressed their naked torso forward, gaining tiny pleasant sparks when Misaki’s responsive body arched up, and kissed along his neck down to one of the collar bones. He licked his lips, then went back again with more force, going for a small bite at one of the nipples, a hand playfully caressed the other. Fushimi’s other free hand sneaked down, slowly undid Misaki’s pants and underwears and let them slide free, short finger nails scraping along the inner thighs.

“Oi, Saru…” Misaki groaned. “Are you teasing me?”

“Don’t you feel good?” He asked, feigning innocence.

“Where did you learn this damn thing?”

“The internet is a wonder, Misaki. I thought you knew.” Fushimi wrapped his fingers around the redhead’s erection, moved up and down with little twists and grips every so often, trying to reconstitute what he had learned. He wasn’t that confident, first time and all, but greatly pleased when rewarded with the sight of Misaki writhing under his touches.

“ _Saru,”_ Misaki managed to bit out, fangs showed in an attempt to appear demanding, however entirely ruined by the erotic little noises he couldn’t keep in.

“Wait a second.” Raising up a bit, Fushimi searched for the stuff he knew were there in the drawer.

“What are you…?”

“A hotel like this...is often very considerate of customer's needs.” He grinned, waving a lube and pair of condoms at Misaki.

“W-Whaat!! Get them away from my face, you moron!! Wh-Why you --!”

“Wandering around the city for a month had gained me much unwanted knowledge. Even omegas need thorough preparation, don’t you know?”

After sending a smug smirk at his simple-minded partner, Fushimi settled between Misaki’s slightly bent legs while focusing too hard on coating his fingers in lube. It felt slick and somewhat gross. Fushimi didn’t complain but he made a disgusted face at Misaki, who giggled in response in spite of being put in a rather awkward position.

“Ready?” He pulled Misaki’s right knee up on his shoulder and kissed a fading scar on his inner thigh, feeling the aching flesh jumped in anticipation. Fushimi didn’t really wait for an answer before carefully pushed a finger inside Misaki. The inner muscles clamped down deliciously on his intrusive finger, sparking a shudder down Fushimi’s body with thoughts of what to come.

One, two, he paused a bit when hearing Misaki’s muffled whine, then started to add the third fingers, splaying them, searching in and out. Misaki's irises were consumed by his blown pupils, head arching back and mouth throatily releasing all kinds of lovely gasps and moans. Fushimi grunted, admiring the way his partner always wore his heart on the sleeves and seemed to have no refrain even in sex, like a damn wildfire licking through every last streak of his nerves. Should he is burnt by it, it’d be a pleasure.

The whole thing felt unreal, somehow, as if Fushimi wasn't actually in his right mind. Or his right body. There was a fire pit in his lower half and a blizzard in his head, he wasn’t sure why he still worked Misaki up all too well while he himself was being wrecked beyond comprehension.

“Saru,” Misaki panted the name out as if it was a spell, fingers twitching in the white sheet, darkened eyes seeking for him in a yearning gaze filled with passion and concern. “you’re still thinking too fucking much. G-Give it up, let your feelings out. I’m here to catch you, alright?”

How odd it was, Fushimi thought, being the one that held the control but still so vulnerable in a certain way, yet to be able to admit that thing he felt like he was getting stronger. It didn’t make any sense.

“Misaki,” He placed another kiss on the soft skin of Misaki’s calf, “100 points.”

“A-Again with your silly scoresheet?”

“Hm.” Fushimi hummed, removed his fingers. He treasured the low groan coming from Misaki’s irritation of the loss for a moment before quickly putting a condom on and preparing his cock. “Can’t help it with you.” He thrust in slowly, stilled only when fully inside Misaki, fingers tangling in red locks as he bent over the other. The pleasure was so strong it smashed all his bottled-up desire and hopeless longing years after years inside, leaving him choked on the tight bubble in his throat. Fushimi blinked rapidly, barely noticed that his eyes had swelled up in wet redness as the flood of feelings crashed over him. He looked, truly looked at Misaki and allowed his thoughts to run free now.

Misaki’s back arched into a bewitching curved line, sun-loved skin coated by a thin layer of sweat, and the warmth radiating from him spoke of sinful prayers. Too full, too much, Fushimi wasn’t sure if he could handle this, if he was allowed to detain such a wild, beautiful work of art like the boy in his embrace. His hands tremble with the desire to touch, to hold, to travel all over Misaki’s petite body, to drag his nails on the tense flesh and claim it his own. This feeling was so foreign that it frightened him to the core, but he couldn’t help but let himself sink deeper in it, finally letting a single tear drop from his burning eyes.

“Saruhiko, Saru, hm, it’s okay.” He felt rather than heard the little words that Misaki breathed into his neck, as though they were connected not only by the body but also by the soul. “I got you, okay?”

“Yeah.” Fushimi answered with a kiss, without hesitancy this time. The stream of sunny scent waved into him like a flood, soaking his world with its fragrance. He began to thrust, groaning as the few first sparks of deep pleasure burst in his veins, and pleased to hear Misaki’s little whimper on his lips. “You really are here, Misaki...”

“Hah...Saruhiko...ah, come on, didn’t I say I would always?” The redhead sunk his teeth into Fushimi’s shoulder, leaving a clear mark of sudden possessiveness. “It’s a promise.”

Fushimi cracked a small smile, then bit down the other’s inviting neck as a revenge while snapping his hips in a clumsy yet earnest rhythm. Traitorous fingers went wandering even without them fully realizing it, from belly to chest, to neck, sliding along the sides, down to the inside of thighs, back to stomach and over Misaki’s leaking length. Fire licked under their skin, from head to toe, brimful and delicious, and just so _right._

“Saruhiko. I, I--uhmm, love, I do love you,” Low moans quivered against Fushimi’s ears, and he swore he had never listened to anything so deadly beautiful. He had been called many, many things, but love had never been one of them. How strange, how unbelievable, and how much it made him happy began to scare him again. “Ah, mine, Saruhiko!… You belong with me, Saru, Saruhiko...”

“S-Stop it.” Finding himself on edges with Misaki’s relentless sweet confessions, Fushimi instinctively brought a hand up and covered the redhead’s mouth. Surprised strangled noises sneaked through the gaps between his fingers, still vaguely on the way to form the word love. Fushimi was sure this was a divine punishment just for him, a blessing that he didn’t deserve.

Misaki grunted, head thrashing to shake the hand off, only to wreck himself into a sudden wave of pleasure. He turned his head upward, throat exposing, tears gathering at the corner of his tightly closed eyes, and bright, pretty red spreading all over his face. Broken streams of _Saruhiko_ and _love_ and _belong_ and _mine_ danced on his lips, ever warm, ever heartfeltly earnest.

And, as Fushimi picked up the speed almost frenzily, he found himself want to blindly believe.

“Yours.” He slowly lowered his hand, replacing it by a feathery touch of lips. “...Misaki.”

“A-About damn time, hah!” A shaky smile, followed by a demand for more, and Misaki continued with his work to claim Fushimi’s heart and soul. “Let yourself be loved by me already, stupid Saruhiko!”

“Uhm. Misaki, I’m trying, Misaki, Misaki.”

They shuddered at the same time, legs trembling and hands intertwining. Fushimi came with his mouth gazing on Misaki’s thigh, name whispering on swollen lips. Misaki yanked him down for a soul-stealing kiss, screaming release into his mouth.  

“...I’m really trying, you know.” Fushimi breathed, flesh still tingle from the high. His elbow gave out and he fell on top of his partner, never be this satisfied and didn’t quite know how to deal with it.

“Yeah. I know, dumbass.” Misaki only laughed, chin pressed onto Fushimi's messy, sweating head. “Do try harder.”

“...Misaki.”

“Hm?”

“Stay.”

“Yeah. Forever. You, too.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------

When Fushimi woke up in the morning, he didn’t really expect too see Misaki’s bright amber eyes glaring angrily at him.

“You dramatic bastard,” the redhead poked him on the forehead, hard enough to shoo his sleepy haze away in an instant, “you are so in for a major repair!”

“What the hell are you talking about, Misaki?”

“I’m talking about THIS.” Without any warning, Misaki clutched Fushimi’s left wrist and bent it upward painfully. The wristbands had been taken off without their owner’s consent, showing two fateful lines of soulmate words for Misaki to see. “I’ve always been curious about your flashy wristbands, but it turns out to be way fucking screwed up than I thought!”

“So noisy…It doesn’t matter now, anyway.” Fushimi scowled, irritated that he had been found out.

“Like hell it doesn’t. As long as you feel the need to cover up your ugly cut mark, it fucking matters.”

“Tsk. So what do you reckon I need to do about it?”

“I don’t know. But listen here. I will _never,_ I repeat, NEVER say that damn phrase again, so you may as well erase it out of your fucked up mind!” Despite being naked and wrapped in cheap hotel bed sheet, Misaki did manage to look mad like hell.

“Well, I --”

_“Fushimi-kun, you’re dragging your destiny by hands and feet in quite a fierce tango. It could end badly if you don’t give yourself a chance to take a deep breath and actually listen to the music.”_

What the point of remembering Sato’s words now... Fushimi clicked his tongue. Yet, it was true. He had new promises to keep. They were all important, and if he wanted to keep them all, some old pains must go.

“A major repair, huh? I think I...know a place.” Misaki’s glare was getting dubious, so Fushimi reluctantly added. “Tattoo shop.”

“Wait. But eat first, it’s already past noon. I’m hungry and fucking sore.”

“Sure.”

Sato Miyuno’s tattoo shop was just two houses away from Sato Misaki’s coffee shop. It even had the same mysterious aura going on. The boss was absence, however, so a middle-aged male tattoo artist offered to show them around. Fushimi supposed it was a good thing, since it’d be torture for Misaki to sit obediently around a woman for more than ten minutes.

When Fushimi told the artist his order, he didn’t expect to be hugged in tearful empathy and given a discount. “I can even renew the skin on your scar, young man,” the man cried on him, “Secret technique, good as new, only 50% charged. My, you two just seem to have gone through so much my old heart can’t bear it.”

“Sure…”

Their new tattoos were done after 4 hours, most of the time spent on fixing Fushimi’s old scar because the actual tattoo drawing took only half an hour. They actually looked real, so time loss considered worth it. The faint sting on Fushimi’s skin was another strange feeling, but this time fully welcomed. Misaki couldn’t stop laughing and staring at them all too happily, and that was a nice bonus too.

By the time they came out of the shop, the sun had already begun to set. Fushimi intended to go to the car park, go home and call it a day. However, Misaki saw the nearby Tango with destiny coffee shop and insisted on a celebration.

“Oh. Good evening, Saruhiko! It’s been awhile.” Mishina greeted Fushimi from the counter. The boy looked somewhat thinner and paler than the last time they had met, but wasn’t all that different. “Good evening! My name is Mishina Souta! How can I help you?” he turned to Misaki, who was looking rather puzzled.

Misaki scratched his chin and read the menu for a few seconds. “Saruhiko, what do you want to order?”

“Whatever you have.” Fushimi shrugged lazily, not taking a step from where he was standing behind the shorter man.

Another pause, then Misaki frowned up to Mishina. “Double shot espresso over ice.”

Sharp intakes of air. Fushimi was pretty sure all three of them got the same frozen moment, shocked for different reasons.

“Are you my soulmate!?” Mishina leaned half his body over the counter, brighter smile, wider eyes, redder face. “I-It should be you, right? I don’t know, I feel something, but -- Uhm, what your name?”

The redhead still stared at the barista, not uttering a word.  

Ah. How foolish. Fushimi bit his lips, fighting with the dark voice in his head that told him to laugh and burn himself down. Soulmate didn’t matter, right? Misaki knew that already, didn’t he? Such a thing shouldn’t hurt anymore and yet after so many things it hurt more, dug deeper, and tore messily at Fushimi’s heart like a dull blade cutting a stitch up rag. He curled fingers around his left wrist, feeling the faint sting there as he got closer to the edge, just one more step away from the breaking point.

He might as well...

“Misaki.” Fushimi choked the word as if he physically ripped it out of his throat. “Yata Misaki. That’s what his name.”

“Oh.” Mishina smiled. “Good evening, Misaki.”

That was it, Fushimi thought, and turned on his heels. The door was right in front of him, tall, open, just one more step.

His vision suddenly turned black, his head dizzy and hurt and unable to realize what was happening. His arm was gripped by a strong force, his whole body being dragged away by the hand. Fushimi stumbled on his feet, trying to pry his eyes open wide.

Tense, trembling small back. Misaki’s.

“Fucking stupid Saru!”

Something dead heavy dropped into the depths of Fushimi’s chest. It ached, but not the ache coming from cruel pain. This felt numb and incurable.

“Relax. I told you, it’s okay. For fuck’s sake, I’ll never go to that coffee shop again, okay? Won’t even wander into this area if not absolutely necessary!” Misaki growled, voice increasing in volume with each word. “Take a good darn look at your face right now. Have a little faith! Stop throwing bullshit everywhere, Saruhiko!”

Misaki....Misaki returned and took him by the hand, like how that idiot had always done. It was never enough and maybe wouldn’t ever be enough from now on.

Even so…

_Stay. Yeah, forever. You, too._

_Saruhiko._ _Love_. _Belong_. _Mine._

_It’s okay. I’m here to catch you._

_You’re stuck with me either you want to or not. Give me all your broken pieces. It’s my turn to fix your soul._

_More than soulmates or clans or Kings, nothing can replace you_

_Tell me until I understand. Keep telling me until I do understand._

“Misaki.” Fushimi stopped, left wrist turning upward, fingers clutching tightly at Misaki’s sleeves. “Good evening, Misaki.”

Misaki pulled him into a crushing hug, saying clearly next to his ears. “Good evening, Saruhiko.”

They didn’t say anything for the rest of the walk to the car park. Misaki stayed silent even when Fushimi started the drive.

These were their tattoo. On Fushimi’s left wrist, _‘Good evening, Saruhiko’_. On Misaki’s right wrist, _‘Fushimi’_. Childish, weren’t they? Despite everything, still hanging on a pretending game.

If he should just...crash their car right now, like this, their last words to each other would be those lines. If that were to come, they would appear as real destined soulmates.

Hah.

How pathetic was that.

Fushimi stole a glance at his...lover? As though sensing what was going on in Fushimi’s mind, Misaki gave him a small smile, saying nothing. Like a silent offer, ‘hey, I’m putting my life on your hands’.

Before he knew it, their department had come to view, and they were still very alive. Fushimi stopped the car in front of it, head slowly dropping on the wheel. Yeah. For now, this much he could handle.

Fushimi felt his head patted gently, so he turned to look at Misaki in the eyes. So many things danced on the tip of his tongue, wanting to be free, yet he only needed one word.

“Mine.”

There, this bright, precious smile, he wouldn’t hand over to anyone.

“Yours, Saruhiko.”

_Now, let’s see how long 'forever' will be,_


	5. All Of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year! ^^
> 
> A million thanks to the actual angel Brynne (SilverThunder) for beta-ing this chapter! I don't know how I survived without you before, tbh.

**V is for Villains**

Despite Yata’s vigour, being with Saruhiko wasn’t easy. Trying to understand and loving that troublesome guy was like a never ending struggle with a wild beast. Or rather, it was truer to say being in love with Saruhiko was like sailing across the ocean at midnight, Yata thought. Dangerous even at its calmest. All directions looked the same even though making one single mistake might be deadly. You could never tell what was lurking under the deck or when the storms would come. And yet, on some starry nights, the entire sea sparkled brightly with millions of tiny little starlights, so breathtakingly beautiful that you couldn’t help but fall in love with the night and the sea and the sailing ship, again and over again.

So, Yata still stood his ground strongly, against all the misunderstandings, all the jealousies and insecurities, all the times Saruhiko had pushed him away (only to crawl back sooner or later, that idiot). Messy, yes, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Legs numb, lips dry, breaths heavy, they were still going forward, this time hand in hand to a shared future. This was exactly where he was intended to be, and he was sure Saruhiko thought so, too. They really were trying.

But, sometimes, that much wasn’t enough. As close as they were now, Saruhiko’s mouth remained shut about the rest of his story, no matter how many times Yata asked.

_“What exactly happened to you?”_

_“Who were the ghosts? What did they do?”_

_“What is it that makes you so afraid?”_

_“Why have you gone to such an extreme length in everything?”_

_“Tell me. How can I understand you if you refuse to say anything?”_

_“Say something, goddammit! I can’t read your mind!”_

_..._ Many impatient questions. So few explanations.

Falling for Saruhiko was a midnight sailing but Saruhiko himself was a maze. There were walls that Yata still couldn’t climb over, dark corners that he couldn’t bring light to. Furthermore, he knew there was a tightly shut door at the center of Saruhiko’s heart, as ominous and impenetrable as the first time he had noticed its existence. The door named “Family” - probably the source of most deep-rooted problems. He knocked on the door, time and time again, even willingly tried to trade many things for just a tiny crack, always damn sure that it would break this time.

It never did.

One might think Yata was being pushy, wanting to dig into Saruhiko’s past and meddling in Saruhiko’s lifestyle like that. And truthfully, he didn’t want this kind of futile struggle either, didn’t really want to bring up uncomfortable subjects and bother his partner’s already messed up mind. However, the past had taught Yata enough about miscommunication and ignorance, how those things only bore disasters. He couldn’t take one more night of seeing his partner tossing and turning in his nightmares as if being burnt alive, couldn’t bear to look at Saruhiko’s bitter change in attitude whenever that bastard encountered some...certain situations.

He felt freaking angry just thinking about it.

They had a fight over some stupid stuff and went too far with their insults - yes, the past was still sore, yes, it still hurt like hell, and yes, they still had a lot to learn about how to handle each other. After that, like any other argument, Saruhiko had stormed out of the apartment to sulk at Scepter 4 and Yata had crashed Homra bar for an emotional support drink.

However, unlike any other fight, Saruhiko hadn’t come home for three days.

That was why Yata stood in front of the blue King’s office at 3 in the morning on a heavily rainy Sunday, soaked to the core, yet burning with rage and worry.

“Saruhiko! Come the fuck out if you’re in there! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” He kicked on the fancy door, ignoring how a passing cleaning staff member frowned at him disapprovingly. “Saru! I have no patience to play your stupid game!”

For a whole minute, there was no response other than a soft series of footsteps. Yata was about to hit the door again when it suddenly opened wide, revealing a slightly tired looking Munakata.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm toward my clansman, Yata-kun, though I would not advise you taking such a dramatic measure at such a highly inappropriate hour.” Munakata gave him an oddly out-of-character tight smile. “All things considered, you’re quite fortunate. Fushimi-kun and I have just called it a day - or the next day, as it apparently seems so.”

Yata raised an eyebrow at that. “Yeah, right, workaholic freaks, should have figured.”

“With how demanding the missions are and how stubborn Fushimi-kun is, he hasn’t taken a proper rest for approximately 43 hours. Please take good care of him, as you are so insistent on taking the charge of his needs in the first place. It’d be rather unreasonable if you couldn’t keep your own words, wouldn’t it?”

“Ah geez, I know that.” Instead of barking a sour reply about damn right it was his responsibility so hand over the goods, Yata just waved a hand dismissively at Munakata’s retreating back and stomped into the room. He had slowly gotten used to this man’s passive-aggressive tone despite being pissed off all the same.

Truth to be told, he had expected worst things from Munakata with regards to his relationship with Saruhiko - rejection, forbiddance, even sabotage, for he was indeed stealing a mate right under the nose of one of the most powerful alphas. Society’s rules had left a deep impression in him that anything went against their nature should be judged and face punishment. So, when Munakata acted like absolutely nothing was wrong, Yata couldn’t help but feel a little grateful.

Just a little, though. That guy was still irritating as hell.

Well, whatever, back to the matter at hand...

“What are you doing here, Misaki? Tsk. Can’t sleep without me to warm your bed?” Saruhiko grumbled over a can of dark coffee while reorganizing the pile of files on the large table. His voice was dull because of the tiredness, but his words grew thorny at the edges.

“You ba--!!”, Yata bit his lips, trying his best let the childish anger go. He gave his partner a look over. Saruhiko was curling his fists and raising his chin, as if he was donning an invisible full-body armour. It was an awfully familiar sight. “......I’m sorry, ok? I was careless. I didn’t mean to yell at you so much. Though it was mostly because you acted like a jerk. Still. Sorry. Stop using overworking as an excuse, it’s lame as hell. Fucking go home already!”

Yata could see Saruhiko’s shoulders tense up even under several layers of clothes. The barest hint of vulnerability flickered in those grayish blue eyes, telling him that at least the willingness to make peace was there.

“Idiot, you don’t need to say it like that.” The blue clansman muttered under his breath like a kid. He threw the now empty can of coffee into the trash bin at the corner, using it as a brief distraction to avoid Yata’s eyes.

“I can say whatever I want, duh! Now what the hell should _you_ say?”

After a long moment,  Saruhiko sighed loudly and rubbed his temple. “Yeah. Fine. I mean… I’m sorry, too. The whole thing was stupid anyway. I wanted to apologize properly yesterday...but work got in the way.”

Yata blinked owlishly at the fast victory, then broke into a roaring laughter. Ah haha, really, they had gone such a long and hard way to get it this easy. This was art itself, barring such uncalculated honesty and taking the risk of looking like a complete fool, just for the sake of each other.

And it was so, so worth it.

“Let’s go home?” Yata asked, fingers spreading out, fully expecting that Saruhiko would take the hand.

To the redhead’s surprise, Saruhiko shook his head tiredly. “No, I need to stay at the dorm tonight so I can immediately return to work in the morning. It’s actually true this time that I have an urgent and dangerous mission, any hour lost may result in a disaster.”

“O-oh…That’s it, huh?” Yata scowled. “I guess it can’t be helped. But you still need to take a break! That guy said you haven’t slept in 43 hours, goddamnit! I bet you didn’t eat properly either, right?”

“I did take some naps and energy bars now and then.”

“Hah! Fucking called it! I wasn’t there to take care of you for 3 days and you just dived right back into your pile of unhealthy habits!”

“Shut up Misaki, you’re too loud.” Saruhiko covered his ears in an overly comical manner. “I managed to survive just fine without you before.”

Yata knew that the other didn’t really put ill intent into that sentence despite the vague mention of their past, but failed to ignore the faint itch in his chest. “Hello! Did you ever look in the mirror? You were just a skin-wearing skeleton back then, especially when you just joined Scepter 4! Look at you now! If anything, I’ve saved you from starvation!”  

For a brief moment, Saruhiko’s eyes darkened, canthus trembling almost unnoticeably. He looked away while clicking his tongue sharply, and these were always bad signs. Yata was sure that he had again gone a tad too far to trigger these reactions, but before he could even start worrying, Saruhiko turned back. There was no bitterness in his expression nor his voice, not anymore, just a soft, surprisingly unguarded smile.

“Yeah. That you did. From the very beginning, even.”

_Ah. It’s fine._

Regardless of the storms, the nights full of stars would return. Regardless of the injuries, the day they healed would definitely come.

Smiling in a carefree manner, Yata gripped his lover’s arm and dragged him out of the office. “Damn right. Now that that’s settled, go the fuck to sleep, Saruhiko.”

“But --”

“Yes, yes, I got it. Still, I’ll stay with you in the dorm tonight so you won’t sneak right back to work at like 5 a.m. I’ll take none of your shitty objections this time, so shut up and lead the way.” If he felt Saruhiko’s arm tense a little at the mere mention of him staying in Scepter 4’s dorm, Yata chose to ignore it.

“...Fine.”  

They stepped into a dark hall. The only light was from their phone’s flash. The only sound was the steady rhythm of heavy drops of rain tapping at the windows. Saruhiko’s lanky shadow moved along the walls a few centimeters ahead of Yata’s own shorter one. He gulped; for some reason, this walk felt like a quiet, almost spiritual ceremony.

When they stopped in front of a plain door, Yata couldn’t help but notice that Saruhiko had actually locked it carefully, and was now fumbling with his pocket to draw out a small key.

_“Don’t lock the door, Saruhiko! You know the gang is going to come over soon right!?”_

_“ So what? Tsk. You can just go open it when they come.”_

_“What’s with you? We’re both home anyway, why do you even need to lock it? Isn’t it easier to leave the entrance wide open so we don’t need to move?”_

_“...It’s a habit.”_

_“Habit my ass! You never locked a damn thing back then! You said there’s noth..ing... Ah, no,  I’m sorry, I-I mean--”_

_“Tsk. It’s because you’re here...”_

_“Huh? What? What about me?”_

_“Nevermind. I only ever close just this one, so it’s fine.”_

_“Just this one,  you said, huh? Why?”_

_“No reason. I don’t need another one, that’s all.”_

To be honest, even when Yata had been too stupid to know what might have been wrong with that, he thought it hadn’t been fine at all. Now, looking at how Saruhiko clumsily turned the knob with only a hint of awkward relief, he suddenly understood. It was so simple, so bittersweet, yet so relieved a realization.

Yata decided that he really liked this Saruhiko, who not only learnt to not obsessively keep their apartment closed all the time, but also finally found another door important enough to lock when going outside.

“Yep, only now it is fine.” Yata skipped into the room with that off-handed statement, paying no heed to the other’s confused stare. He looked around, pleased to see there were the slightest hints of personal touches here and there. “Wah, you have a bunk bed! I’ll sleep in the bottom bed, ok? So nostalgic! ”

“Figure you’d like taking the bottom, Misaki.” Saruhiko smirked, though all teasing intentions sounded cute in that sleepy voice oh his.

“S-Shaddup!”

It took them little time to finish cleaning up and get ready for an early morning sleep. Saruhiko seemed dead to the world the moment his back hit the mattress, according to the lack of noise or movement from the top bed. However, Yata knew better. He strained his eyes and ears in the dark, fighting against his own weariness and the temptation of warm blankets.

As expected, no more than 15 minutes later, rustling sounds and quiet whimpers started to break out. It was painfully obvious that Saruhiko still got frequent nightmares even after all this time. That was why they had an argument three days ago, actually. That idiot had tried so damn hard to deny the fact that there was something troubling him, even going as far as spitting insults at Yata for a temporary distraction. It worked every time, unfortunately, and the redhead hated both of them for always falling into the same fucking pattern.

Sighing loudly, Yata climbed the ladder and gracelessly crammed himself into Saruhiko’s tiny bed. Shaking fingers clung onto his shirt in an instant, dark hairs buried their way in his neck. Little pitiful whines broke into muffled being which would never have escaped their tightly sealed chest cage if Saruhiko was awake.

“Br...D...on’t break it…”

“Hush. Nothing is going to be broken.”

“That man...I..”

“You’re not like your father.”

“...Bur...ning, mine, they ar--!”

“All those monsters are not real. They’re just fucking with your head, Saruhiko. Kick them all out, you’re stronger than this.”

“Don’t...leave.”

“I’m here. I’m here, Saruhiko.”

Yata played with the stray dark locks of hair and whispered every ounce of his love until a reassured smile finally rested well in the corner of Saruhiko’s lips. The room was getting brighter with the earliest lights of dawn, but Yata put a hand over his sleeping omega and decided the universe could wait a little bit more.

\---------------------------------------------------

When Yata opened his eyes, the sun had already gone way up to the middle of the sky. Saruhiko was nowhere to be seen, probably hard at work with whatever emergency the blue clan was involved in.

There was a note left for Yata right above his head, it read “Stay at the bottom idiot. Thank to you my neck hurts like hell. And lock the door when you go, I’ll take the key later. We have a cooperation mission tonight. Ask Kusanagi-san for more details. P/s: you need new clothes for this, take my business credit card. PIN is 0707. Burn when done. P/ss: Go shopping with someone who actually has fashion sense... P/sss: Thank y-----” And of course the rest was scribbled all over.

Yata stared at the small key and the card placed neatly on the table, astonished by this weird display of trust. It was so typically Saruhiko-ish that the skater didn’t know if he should laugh or not.

He laughed anyway and yelled no blood no bone no ash while burning the memo into nothingness. 0707 was a very easy number to remember, after all.

“Guess I should come to Homra, huh? Wonder what stupid shit it is this time… Scepter 4 always has the worst kinds of cooperation missions possible.” Yata cringed. The last time he had helped the blue clan he ended up wearing a lolita dress for 18 hours. Another mission had involved him and Saruhiko making out in front of the Silver King, and he was pretty sure the one right before that hadn’t even been legal.

It didn’t help that on his way out of the building some blue coats Yata vaguely recognised slapped him on the back and gave him a thumb up. He understood nothing but hell if it wasn’t suspicious.

As it turned out, it was. It freaking was.

“What do you mean I am married into royalty today!?”

Kusanagi kept cleaning a glass all casually with an amused smile. “Oh Yata-chan, I thought you’d be happy being able to marry Fushimi?”

“Well yes but since when he has royal blood-- no, NO that’s not the deal here! Me? Marry Saru? What’s going on!?”

The bartender placed two pages of paper on the bar counter, right in front of Yata’s wide shocked eyes. The first one was full of difficult details about some super tough plans, and the second one was a marriage certificate with two very familiar faces on it.

What.

Yata blinked one, two, three times, but the marriage certificate was still lying there, very much solid. According to it, he was an omega son of a millionaire and he had just married Fushimi Saruhiko who was the alpha heir of “Kisan kingdom”.

“W-Wait, what the fuck is Kisan kingdom? I’ve never heard of that country! Is it even real!?”

“Yes and no. Here, I’ll sum it up for you.” Kusanagi turned the page full of mission details around and started extracting certain points from it. Thank to years of dealing with idiots, the Homra’s second in command knew exactly how to work with Yata.

“Ok, I’m ready. Shoot!.”

“Scepter 4 is processing a highly delicate yet dangerous case, and today they will infiltrate a top-class organization’s celebration in order to get their hands on a few...national secrets. Munakata and I actually fulfilled the requirements to attend, so we’ll be there as legit invited guests. One way or another, Fushimi has been able to join the party as the sole heir of Kisan Kingdom, a multinational trading company.”

“Oh so it’s just a company. Got me there a second, Kusanagi-san,” Yata pouted.

The blonde man continued effortlessly, not missing even a beat. “The objective of the mission is to get some information from a military general, a CEO of the biggest technology company in Japan, and a member of the British royalty. There are clues about illegal international Strain experiments among those links, though no solid evidence has been found yet. Seri-chan really is having headaches over it.”

“That doesn’t explain why I need to marry Saruhiko.”

“They need our assistance for varied abilities if there’s something wrong. Plus, for some reason, Fushimi doesn’t seem to like his disguise very much, so there’s no choice but for you to tag along and act like a…’supervisor’ toward him. Unfortunately, or should I say fortunately, the organization only allows married couples to come in pairs. I’ll come with Seri-chan, Munakata goes with a random clansman, and you stick tight with Fushimi.”

Kusanagi finished his speech with a pointed tilt of his head toward the fake marriage certificate, his face holding a clear expression of _‘There you have it’_.

There were so many things Yata would like to make a fuss over, but he restrained himself by clasping his hands over his reddened face and whining.

“It’s fine, Yata-chan. Once we get inside, not everyone will remember our relationship status. We have freedom to move around and get as much information as we can, granted that our cover isn't blown, of course. Understood?”

“...So-so.” Yata stuck his tongue out childishly. He scanned over the document again and frowned slightly. “Won’t it be risky for Saru to take this disguise? What if the real Kisan prin-whatever-nce knows?”

“That’s where it gets interesting.” Despite the seemingly teasing tone, Kusanagi’s eyes grew serious. He took out his phone, tapped on it a few seconds, then turned it around. Upon seeing what was on the wide screen, Yata instantly sprang up in thundering shock. “In spite of Fushimi’s warning, I’ve done some quick research on my own. The CEO of that company is a woman named Fushimi Kisa, and this is her picture. Quite a heartless beauty, if I must give praise. ”

Yata stared at the picture, jaw hanging low. He remembered Saruhiko’s empty house, Saruhiko’s repeated attempts to make sure Misaki would have come if called, and didn’t like the face that he was looking at in the slightest.  

“Kusanagi-san…Thanks.” He clenched his hand, feeling cold sweat starting to gather there. “It’s your idea to let me come with him, right?”

“Guess again, Yata-chan.” To Yata’s surprise, the bartender patted his head gently and whistled. “A hint just for you, then. From what I heard early this morning, someone is really grateful for your stubbornness, and is trying his best to make you understand.”

Sat still on a red high chair, surrounded by shiny wine bottles and drinking glasses, Yata idly wondered if he had ever achieved anything brighter in his whole life. Small laughs bubbled his throat as he touched his right wrist, where his made-up soulmate tattoo rested proudly for the world to see.

He didn’t mind having that single word on him, but Saruhiko sure did.

At first, Saruhiko had disagreed to let Yata carve “Fushimi” into his flesh, saying it was something Yata shouldn’t have had on him. That family name was nothing but a reminder of just how terrible human beings could be. However, Yata had insisted, for he wanted the whole soulmate thing to genuinely work, not just a mere pretending game. He clearly remembered that on the starting day of their middle school’s first year, Saruhiko had said his last name as a curt introduction at the exact same time Yata accidently looked up, and they had had this weird 2-second eye contact. Thinking back, it must be some sort of fate’s sign telling.

Silently, he traced his finger along the name under the picture of his face, it was still intact as Yata Misaki. Maybe Saruhiko didn’t want him to bear the burden of being a “Fushimi” even just on fake paper, despite it being more suspicious.

But...

“You think he’s gonna tell me about his stupid problems?” Yata murmured, feeling quite nervous for no reason. “Think...he won’t fuck it up this time? Or maybe it’s me...”

“He won’t, and you will be fine.” Kusanagi replied, smile softened and somewhat rueful. “Both of you are not the lost children you were years ago anymore, you can overcome your demons. Sadness, loneliness, and anger…they are not like the endless oceans. Over time, they will dry up to the last drop.”

“Hmmmmm.” Yata pulled his beanie down just enough to hide his trembling reddened eyes. “When did you become such a sloppy poet, Kusanagi-san?”

“Now  you are just being an insolent kid, aren’t you?.” Kusanagi raised an eyebrow. “Anyway, you should go buying nice clothes now, or you’ll be late for the royal ball! I’m not sure if the prince will like a Cinderella in shorts and a hoodie, haha.”

“W-what the hell! I’m not a fricking _Cinderella_!!!! I was a --!”

“Misaki would look good in a red dress.” Yata snapped out of his yelling when he felt a small tug at the hem of his shirt. He looked down to see Anna looking at him with big bright eyes. “You should wear a pair of glass shoes, too.”

It was always hard to tell if Anna was joking or not. She dragged Yata out of the bar and into the busy fashion mall anyway.

\-----------------------------------------------------

“OOooh woah!!” Yata gasped, eyes opening comically wide. “Would you look at _that_!”

The party was indeed over-the-top fancy. Stumbling out of the limousine, which he had no idea how Kusanagi had got his hand on, Yata stared at the huge sparkling building right in front of him. Crimson carpets unfolded from under his feet to far into the gold-decorated entrance. Through the glass windows, he could partially see the beautifully arranged sweet buffet tables and gorgeous people dancing around elegantly.

“Close your mouth, Yata-chan. Remember who you are~” Kusanagi whistled beside him, looking all in-character-ish flashy and stuff in his light gray tailcoat and vest, completed with a silky scarlet tie.  

“R-Right.” He cleared his throat and stood straight, trying to look as proper as possible. Since Homra also had this kind of mission every now and then, he was more or less used to this by now. Though admittedly, the first time he was forced to infiltrate a rich party like this, he had acted like a total moron and had blown his cover after ten minutes. “Shall we go in?”

“Yes, our…‘friends’ are already waiting inside.”

Kusanagi walked ahead gracefully, shiny black shoes not making a sound on the carpet. Following just a step behind, Yata actually made a special effort to memorize where all the possible exits were if anything should go wrong.

“All these shiny things make my eyes hurt…Pretty sure that weird statue at that door costs more than my whole apartment.”

“14 times higher, to be exact.”

“Gosh, some people in the world just breathe money in and out.” Yata cringed before scanning the crowd, looking for familiar faces.

It wasn’t that hard to spot the blue King and his clansmen, what with their annoying height and unique flashy-classy aura. They were out of uniform, but all dressed in a variety of extravagant blue suits, or in Awashima’s case, a stunning bold-cut navy evening gown.

“We are here, Munakata, Seri-chan.”

“Greetings, Kusanagi-san.”

“Good evening, I see you two made it here with no difficulty.”

Yata hastily averted his eyes, nowhere near over his fear of women yet, only to get an eyeful of his gorgeous boyfriend staring at him.

“W-what? Have a problem? It’s Anna’s choice, ok?” Yata muttered, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. He looked down at his own clothes, unbuttoned dark jacket, rather tight waistcoat, and crimson shirt with subtle fire pattern around the collar. “I’m not that sure about all these, but Anna’s fashion sense was actually approved by Kusanagi-san so I should be presentable enough?”

“Figured.” Saruhiko clicked his tongue before looking away. “It’s ok, you look...fine. For a thug, that is.”

“Gzee, thanks a whole lot. You look quite princely yourself.” Yata smirked easily, enjoying how Saruhiko pouted a little at that counterback.

“Let’s just get this stupid mission over with.”

The blue King nodded. “Enomoto-kun, please activate the system.”

Munakata’s clansman of choice today was a plain-looking long-haired man, whose name Yata only vaguely recalled from Scepter 4’s sword drawing rituals. Enomoto nodded eagerly, then acted like he was fixing his tie. A small static noise went through Yata’s ears, signaling that all communication devices and spy cameras on them were turned on.

“Yosh! Let’s do it!”

“Please advance as we discussed. I’m counting on all of you.” The blue King gave a small smile before splitting up from the group, Awashima hot on his heels. Enomoto and Kusanagi also went off separate ways to do their own sneaky work. Beaming brightly, Yata was about to jump onto the mission when he realized that Saruhiko hadn’t moved an inch from his spot. He looked a bit uncomfortable, eyes scanning quickly through the crowd back and forth like he was avoiding something.

“Saruhiko...what’s wrong?”

It took more than three seconds before the dark-haired man looked back at Yata, expression turning neutral. “Nothing, let’s go. I'll take care of the small fries first, as planned.”

Basically, Yata was assigned to distract the guard, sneak spyware onto the targets, and stand in high alert if conflicts should happen to anyone engaged in the information stealing. However, he remembered how Kusanagi said Saruhiko must be pushed to work, so wherever he went he kept an eye out.

Surprisingly, Saruhiko was doing an excellent job on his own at everything, alas with only a barely visible scowl. Yata started to wonder what the true nature of his so-called mission tonight was. Saruhiko sure didn't look like he needed encouragement or anything like that. Actually, the bastard even seemed like he was showing off his information extracting skills with how smooth things had been. No one even glanced twice at him in doubt, even though he looked totally suspicious in Yata's opinion.

Rolling his eyes, the redhead started to pay more attention to his other comrades. Kusanagi was taking to a sturdy old man, who the redhead assumed was the military general. They were both smiling and talking like old friends, and Yata swore he had never witnessed a more obviously fake conversation. At least Kusanagi hadn't called for support yet, so the situation over there should still be in control.

Munakata and Awashima held their own ground pretty firmly too, considering how they were easily English rapping battle with some British ambassadors. However, out of the corner of his eye, Yata spotted a guard peeking curiously at them, possibly smelling something not right.  

"Sir." He strutted over, a deep frown on his face and slightly arched back. After years of practicing with Kusanagi, though he hated it he knew how to act to perfectly distract a big guard. "I've kind of lost my husband in the crowd, can you help me find him? I can't see well with all those tall heads everywhere... as much as it pains me to admit."

The guard's eyes twinkled with interested amusement. _Gross_. "Ah, yes, sir. Can you describe him for me?"

"Sure." Taking advantage of the current flow, Yata slowly led the guy away. He caught Awashima nodding briefly at him in gratefulness and couldn't help but feel a bit proud. "He's dark-haired, tall and slender. His hair is weirdly styled but it suits him somehow... And he's wearing this nice suit with royal blue vest...you'll know when you see him."

"May I ask what his name is?"

"Fushimi Saruhiko."

"Oh, Fushimi?" The guard scratched his chin. "I haven't heard about a "Saruhiko", but the family name does sound familiar... Is he an alpha?"

"...N--, Ugh,well, y-yes, but he doesn't have a t-typical alpha build! He's, eh, a lanky malnourished one!" Yata muttered in irritation, barely able to cover his nervousness. "You see, ever since forever he can't take care of himself  even though he's supposed to be super rich and stuff."

"I see." There may have been just a hint of suspicion in the guard's voice, but it faded soon enough as he was distracted by the task of finding Saruhiko. "Ah, I think I found him. Is the man standing near the right corner your husband?"

"Yes… Thank you, sir." _Shit, he found Saru sooner than I thought, there goes my excuse. Hope those blues managed to finish by now_. Yata bit the inside of his mouth to prevent subconscious swearing out loud. Thank to that unusual effort of keeping quiet, his good hearing picked up the guard's low mumble.

"Hmm, how strange. I could say I might have met him somewhere before. Can't remember where...."

“Eh? M-maybe you saw his face in the some random magazine?”

The guard just silently raised an eyebrow in total suspicion.

_Tsk...Damn it, seems like that was a bad move. What should I do..._

"Oh, there you are, F-Fushimi-san!"

Before Yata could even be worried, Enomoto seemed to notice there was something going on and jumped to the rescue out of nowhere. Though it took Yata several seconds to realize the "Fushimi-san" in question was directed to him, he managed to take the act on without being overly embarrassed.

"Enomoto!"

"I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Fushimi-sama has been quite worried... Where have you gone? Is this gentleman here to escort you?"

"Eh, yes, he’s been helping me finding Saruhiko. I was lost around...there." Yata tilted his head to Munakata’s general direction, trying to not so subtly hint at what he was doing.

“I see, I’m glad you’ve returned safe and sound!” Thankfully, Enomoto picked it up super quickly. He got into the space between Yata and the huge man, easily setting up a safe barrier with a polite smile. “Thank you very much, I’ll take it from here. By all means, please don’t let us distract you from your job!”

“Oh no, it’s my pleasure to be of assistance. Please take care, sirs.”

With one last skeptical look, the guard bowed and retreated over the dance floor to across the room.

“…... Man, that was close! I thought I screwed up real bad there!” Yata waited for a whole 30 seconds before huffing out loudly with sheer relief when no one seemed to come up and kick him in the ass. Meanwhile, Enomoto gave a sympathetic smile that surely didn’t reach his eyes, which were trembling with poorly suppressed amusement. “Hey, not really my fault--”

“Misaki. Enomoto.” Saruhiko considerately chose that moment to interrupt them. His working voice was sharp and a tad too stiff.  “The captain is having trouble, he’s calling for support. Move.”

“The blue king, again? Geez, I’ve just walked away from them…”

“What’s happening, Fushimi-san?”

“He found that the British princess is the one who holds all of the important leads, but he can’t get her to cooperate.”

“P-p-princess!?”

“Wow, there is a woman whom even the captain can’t handle! She does exist!?”

“Apparently,” Saruhiko let out an uncharacteristic loud giggle at that. "She called him a stuck-up old man with super creepy formal speech.”

“Muahahaha!”

To Yata’s surprise, Kusanagi was the one who was talking with the princess when they arrived. The blue authority pair were a safe distance away, nursing a drink. For once, they looked rather...sheepish, for lack of better words.

“Princess Anwen is proving to be quite a challenge. For us, at least.” Awashima pursed her lips a little before briefly explaining the situation. “She is by no means a cunning mastermind, but rather a dreamy teenage girl who happens to hold some crucial information. However, talking to her is… pardon my rudeness, mentally exhausting.”

“A different kind of challenge.” Munakata chuckled. “I recall that Awashima-kun was referred to as _‘strict-looking well-endowed female beta who doesn’t seem like an ideal partner, pass’_ , and was promptly ignored, not unlike this old man myself. Very interesting.”

Kusanagi joined them a few seconds later, a tight smile pasted on his lips. “As expected, I am ‘ _another suspicious ancient statue, don’t start asking me to dance with you, don’t even talk to me’_. Sorry, I think we need a better strategy.”

Swallowing dryly, Yata felt his fear for women flared up a hundred times greater. He snuck a glance at the princess, and immediately had to fight his instinct to shield his face away. She was younger than he imagined - beautiful and sharp, gold hair, fairly short dress with flaming dragonflies. However, there was a brimming arrogant aura around her.

Talk about a challenge. This, Yata sure as hell would not be able to provide any support for. He shrugged and looked expectantly at Saruhiko, which, for some reason, drew everyone’s attention to the guy too.

“What?” After a short awkward silence, Saruhiko sighed uncomfortably. “...Tch. Why don’t you just seduce her, Misaki?”

“S-Saruhi-ko!!?”

Everyone else arched an eyebrow. “Oh my~”

“...She has this mix of ‘hi I’m a spoiled brat’ and ‘ugh where’s my shiny knight among all those oldies’ feel. Younger people seducing her should work. Go go Misa~ki~”

“T-The fuck? As if I can s-s-sedu… And, and faking such a thing is bad, right?!”

“Still a virgin after all this time?”

“What!? I’m not - that’s irrelevant! Where is Chitose when we need him… Argh, why are you pushing _me_!? You KNOW I can’t! For God’s sake, I can’t even speak English! Why don’t YOU do it!?”

Enomoto cooed from the sideline. “Well, she can speak Japanese. But Fushimi-san, Yata-san is right. You’ve done a lot of undercover missions, you should know what to do the best!”

Saruhiko clicked his tongue. A refusal almost made its way out of his mouth but was choked up right at the moment two palms were placed on both of his shoulders. Kusanagi and Munakata were beaming positively brighter than the fancy chandeliers above them. They didn’t even say anything, just smiling pleasantly in unison at Saruhiko’s unimpressed glare. It held like that for more or less half a minute.

“Tch. Captain. Don’t even--”

“Fushimi-kun, I have a very high expectation of you. I’m waiting eagerly for you to exceed it in such a difficult situation.”

“Ugh…”

“Your face says ‘amusing’ all over, Munakata. It’s just a sight you want to see, isn’t it? What a bad personality, eh? That being said...Fushimi, I, too, want to see how my could-be successor will handle this.”

Yata watched amusedly as his partner eventually slammed a palm into that pretty face of his. Though he felt a little less amused when Saruhiko peeked at him, all defeated and silently asking for permission.

“Ugh. Good luck showing off out there?”

“Tch! You sure are chill with sending your husband over to a girl, Misaki.” Saruhiko clicked his tongue, more out of deflated annoyance than actual offense.

“Only for the mission! Besides, you wouldn’t... I mean, your sorry ass just hates humans in general anyway.”

Yata didn’t like the idea one bit. However, he decided to be a mature adult with a sense of responsibility here, and tried to hold in his jealousy for later… confirmation activities. He knew Saruhiko was his enough to trust him with this kind of situation. Yep, it wasn’t like Yata didn’t find a part of him feeling kinda curious or anything.

“...Tch. Fine.”                                                                  

With a long-suffering sigh, Saruhiko snapped his fingers overdramatically as if it’d help him instantly get into the character. It must have worked - suddenly his entire posture changed. Back straight, face settled to a neutral yet somewhat mysterious expression, Saruhiko spoke in a slightly more expressive voice than his default bored one. “Enomoto, change the music to Viennese Waltz at my cross signal, then call my phone when I give L signal. Ah, also give me your hair tie.”

“And Misaki…” Saruhiko threw a lazy smirk over his shoulder. He unbuttoned the first button of his shirt, then tied his hair into a tiny low ponytail. “Take note.”

It threw Yata off the hill right from the start, and he found himself watching the scenes unfold with vague uneasiness.

Saruhiko strolled toward the princess, swiftly taking a glass of wine somewhere on the way while not looking at all like he had an ulterior motive. If anything, under his cool demeanor, Yata’s trained eyes started to detect just a hint of well-covered irritation. It quickly disappeared though, the moment Princess Anwen bumped lightly into him, spilling a bit of his drink on the floor.

“Ah, yo--” She might be about to complain, but stopped midway as she looked up to meet Saruhiko’s eyes. Yata couldn’t blame her. He forgot to breathe for a moment, too.

Those eyes were a shade too dark to be blue - cold like the depths of the ocean, and held a terrifyingly piercing gaze. They looked almost...dead, yet somehow the appeal of darkness was wickedly alluring. Within that gaze was a captive power, like a reel silently winding the prey in. The princess nervously looked down from those eyes to his mouth, unable to keep the eye contact for more than 3 seconds.

"My sincerest apologies, your highness." And then, Saruhiko smiled. The gentle, bright smile sparked the bluest colors out of those dark eyes, bringing them to life.

The gap in expressions was so sudden that it shot a sneaky instant-kill into anyone who was watching. Much like a drastic chemistry experiment, it melted all guarded walls, and burst hearts into colours.

“N-no, it’s my fault. May I get you a new drink as compensation?” Anwen blushed.

“That’d be very lovely.” Saruhiko nodded, lips curling just a bit higher.

“Then that way… The bar serves better cocktails. Come with me.”

Yata had to admit this was a Saruhiko he didn’t know about and should take note of. He craned his neck to follow the pair, but due to the increasing distance he couldn’t hear their conversation.

“I never knew Fushimi-san could be so smooth.” Enomoto took it upon himself to summarize out loud everyone’s thoughts.

“Fushimi-kun is indeed exceedingly talented in acting when the situation desperately calls for it.” Munakata smirked.

“Yeah. _‘Desperate_ ’ situations.” Yata couldn’t stop himself from nipping a bit at it. But, as the blue King simply smiled back, he turned to Saruhiko once more. “What’s he doing? Just mindless chatting?”

“He’s warming Princess Anwen up, I believe.” Kusanagi announced his professional observation. “Winning affection with small talk and light drinks is the first step to extracting clues about anything.”

“You sure know the business, mister bartender.” Awashima glanced at him. Her tone showed no real intention, and she didn’t let anyone dwell on it. “Ah - here come the signal, Enomoto!”

“Y-yes, ma’am! It’s a cross... Then, please excuse me.”

Enomoto negotiated fast. In no time, the music changed to what Yata assumed was Viens-something Waltz. The dance floor shuffled a little, dancing couples stopped and walked out, new classy couples swirled their way in. There were noticeably fewer people, though.

“So he’s gonna ask her to waltz, huh… Didn’t know he could.” Yata felt just a tiny pang when he saw Saruhiko offer a hand to the princess. She pretended to be mighty, but took it right when his hand started to lower. “Tsk, rich freaks and their fancy ass balls.”

“It’s quite humorous when you phrase it in that certain way, Yata-kun.”

“Shut it!”

The pair strode to the edge of the dance floor, then immediately stood in a perfect stance. One of Saruhiko’s hands was on Anwen’s lower back and the other wrapped around her fingers, eyes to eyes, bodies fitting neatly close to each other. When the song shifted into a particular fast beat, the first sets of steps were taken.

Yata knew nothing about the art of ballroom dancing, but he could swear those two were something else. High heels and shiny shoes clashing on the granite floor, a rhythm came to life within each of their quick taps and spins. Fierce as if filled with passion, yet elegant as if gliding on silk. The princess's long golden hair swayed when she swirled, and flowed like a river when Saruhiko dipped her into a graceful curve line. Then, he pulled Anwen's back firmly against him by the waistband, a single finger slowly sliding along the beating vein under her jaw to sensually lift her head up. A tease of lips...might have even grazed past her ears.

The melody smoothed down, and for a few moments, they just held that loose sense of an embrace and took light steps to the center of the hall. However, when a high note hit in, the princess broke free - turning a quarter of a circle away for a spontaneous solo, dragonfly flames seemed to go through the thin fabric of her dress and onto the air. Quick rise, quick fall, a smouldering gaze, a challenging touch. She was trying to claim her domination over the dance.

Saruhiko had none of it. He effortlessly pulled her back and swept the two of them into continuous twirls, rounds and rounds, snapping his heels in time with the lavish sounds of the accordion. Under his feet, blue lightings began to spark and soon flared up, enveloping around both of them, completely swallowing the illusive red. A tad similar to Totsuka’s flaming butterflies, but there was something different in its vitality, a heart-quickening kind of mesmerism thumping through this display of aura.

“He’s quite the trickster,” commented Kusanagi, oddly impressed at the performance. “She’s a royal omega, so she was subconsciously proving her strong breed. Fushimi threw in the aura to catch her off guard and took complete control. When the body submits by instinct, the mind follows.”

For a fraction of a second, Saruhiko looked up and caught Yata’s eyes. Storming blue, the sky in mid fall. Yata knew those eyes. In that single instant, there was no princess, no mission, just them. Just Saruhiko and Misaki. It was a little like their usual fighting - the burn of flames and glow of lights, the singing thirst in blood and the dull pain in heart - except that they weren’t fighting, but dancing in their own little world. There, his own red would mingle with the blue. Strongly, perfectly equal half of a whole, with no one trying _so_ desperately to be the better one.

Slow piano echoed. Saruhiko tipped the girl down in a perfect diagonal pose, a hand resting well on her thin, long leg around his waist. Then, just like that, the music faded, and the magic broke. Amazed audiences applauded loudly as the pair moved back to the bar counter, jolting Yata up from his daydream.

“Such a great waltz! They make a perfect couple!”

“What was that light!? Amazing!”

“It must be a cool magic trick!”

“Who is this talented young man? I've never seen him before!”

Enomoto raised his voice after the noises died down. “Oh, so... Excuse me for asking this, but for Fushimi-san to win over an omega this easily means he is an alpha, right?”

“Huh?” The redhead stared blankly.

Silence fell until Enomoto awkwardly explained himself. “W-Well, it’s been a friendly bet among all staff for ages. You see, Fushimi-san never left his nape exposed and we don’t have access to his full profile, so we’re betting if he’s an alpha or a beta.”

“What? But he’s...” Yata clamped his mouth shut. No one said anything else. Soon, the other clansman took the hint to drop the subject.

That was a matter for another time.

Ten minutes later, the L signal was given. Munakata smugly sent a call from his own phone despite Enomoto’s “It’s-my-job-Sir” stare.

Saruhiko fished his PDA out and glanced darkly at the name - definitely not an act. Princess Anwen said something with a heavy frown, probably asking whose call it was. Still, he picked up almost too calmly.

“Fushimi speaking.” The voice coming out was tiny, but Yata had pride in his sharp ears.

“Good evening, Fushimi-kun. Why, I do believe that phonecall leave is quite an effective old-fashioned excuse as well.”

“...Is there a reason I must attend the meeting? I’ve arrived at the party, it’d be rude to leave.”

“What a well-thought plan, I certainly expect nothing less. Now, if you kindly apply this strategy to more casual social interactions without leaving at the climax point to increase the longing desires part--”

“Understood, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Fufufu.”

_What kind of fucked up strategy is that._

“I’m afraid I must go, your highness.” The redhead blinked. Seemed like the call was still connected on purpose.

Sure enough, Saruhiko stood up with composure, fully intended to walk away and never come back. When he bid farewell, Princess Anwen already looked like she was on the verge of having regrets for life.

“Is it an emergency? Can’t you stay just a little longer?”

“It’s important, but not quite. They could use my opinion; however, I’m quite confident the meeting could proceed without me. My attendance is more of an unspoken law at this point.”

“That means you can skip it, doesn’t it? The party has just started.”

“It really is unfortunate.” Saruhiko pretended to care. “We’re facing a highly strange problem. If they could just solve this case of disappearances of some...special people that happened last week, I’d have much more freedom.”

“Special? Last week? You can’t be talking about those with…superpowers like you, right?”

“Oh? Your highness, perhaps you know something?”

“I may have seen something interesting.” She chuckled. “That is, if you stay long enough for me to tell.”

“Hm, very well, Princess Anwen. After all...” He raised his forefinger to wave a small, flickering blue circle in the air, and suddenly his hair tie broke off. Smooth hair flowed out of the low ponytail, framing his neck like a curtain. Saruhiko smirked, mischievous eyes growing a shade darker. “Some rules just beg to be broken, don’t they?”

\----------------------------------------------------

“Got it.” - Click.

“All recorded. Well done, Fushimi.” - Click.

Finally, Awashima turned off the phone. It couldn’t be more than half an hour, yet Yata felt like an eternity had passed. It was antsy to just do nothing at all. Besides, somehow a bad chill was starting to climb up his spine.

“What now?” He muttered. “I think we should get outta here soon.”

“I agree, let’s move before more suspicion is raised.”  

Saruhiko nodded from afar before politely shaking the Princess off for real. However, as he walked back to them, Yata’s bad feeling shot right up his heart.

“W-wait!”

“Huh, what, Misak--!”

A big shadow loomed over the tall omega, as well as a gripping hand on his shoulder. It was so sudden and stealthy, even Munakata’s composure appeared to slip for a second. The guard from before swept a cold look at the group, silently daring them to make a rash move in the middle of a busy party.

“Is playtime over yet, Mister Fushimi and friends? Or should I say, uninvited rats?”

“Let him go!” Yata was about to fuck it and attacked first, but Kusanagi raised a hand a stop him. Munakata stepped up to take over the situation.

“Perhaps there’s a misunderstand, good sir. We’ve been invited by the host themselves, as our names are certainly on the guest lists.”

The guard snorted. “Oh come on, the lot of you can’t brainwash every single citizen. Magic trick my ass, that blue thing was from the dogs of Scepter 4. Bad idea, man.” He gripped Saruhiko tighter. “And my madam said it, Kisan Kingdom has no damn heir.”  

“Get your dirty hands off me.” The third-in-command growled. “I’ll--”

The blue King smiled pleasantly. “It appears to me that you’ve waited until our business is taken care of for this little confrontation. Perchance it’s an offer that we could make a negotiation with your madam?”

“She didn’t say that.” The guard frowned. “Just told me to not make an unnecessary mess. She’s too busy for petty things like this.” 

“Of course she is.” Saruhiko spat the words as if they were thorns in his mouth. He fidgeted with the hem of his sleeves, no doubt trying to resist drawing a dagger. “What we do causes no harm for her precious business whatsoever, so fuck off already!”

“Fushimi-kun, stand down. There’s no need to make a fuss.”  

“Still put up a farce, huh?’

Yata bit his lips when brief silence fell upon them. They were having a stare showdown when all he wanted to was jump to a quick fight and got it over with. “Gosh, just tell us what the fuck you want!”

“Calm down, Yata-chan.”

“Hand over whatever you sniffed out.”

“No fucking way!”

“There’s no--”

“You.” A bone-chilling voice cut the argument right off. Everyone but Munakata snapped their head to where it came from, only to meet with an equally cold-faced lady looking down at them from the stairs. “I said no trivial mess. You’re disturbing the guests.”

Just like that, the guard immediately reduced to a shaking leaf. “M-Madam. My apologies! I’ll clean this up right now!”

“You’re fired. Go.”

“Please, Madam Fushimi!”

Yata gasped at the name. So this was… her. Saruhiko’s mother.

The mother who had left her child in an empty mansion. The woman who had never been there when her child got sick, who hadn’t even cared enough for a scolding. One of those people who put ice shards in Saruhiko’s heart, cracked glasses in his soul, and nightmares in his sleep.

Anger screamed in Yata’s blood. A different, deep, cold kind of anger. Not like burning rage, no, but like sinking into the Northern sea.

Without a word, he pulled Saruhiko away from the cowering guard and stood straight beside him, glaring at the woman as he tightly held his partner’s hand. Saruhiko’s palm was clammy and tense, but it held back. Yata vaguely noticed everyone moving to their side, silently, but definitely sending that clear message together with him.

Even so, the woman didn’t betray anything on her face. She gracefully, calmly in a heartless way, walked down the stairs without even a spare look at them.

When her feet touched the ground, however, she cast her eyes on Saruhiko. The way a queen granted a glance of pity to a nameless peasant, when the rest of them weren't even worth her attention. Yata could feel his partner’s breath hitching, so he gripped his fingers even tighter.

No one could tell this was the reunion of a mother and her son. Not with how their silent stare was so tense and emotionless, and their blue eyes so dead. The little exchange wasn’t how enemies looked at each other, but neither was it of total strangers. It wasn’t like anything at all.

_Maybe that really was it. Nothing._

“I saw your dance,” She finally said. It didn’t sound happy nor unhappy. “Was it on purpose?”

“What do you think.” Saruhiko gritted his teeth. It didn't sound like a question nor an affirmation.

“That’s how you were born.”

“Hah. I was told.”

For the first time since she appeared, a very brief frown twitched her eyebrows, almost like a haunting shadow had just passed through her. It vanished as soon as it started as she turned away. “Go. I have no interest in whatever business you have here today. Don’t ever bother me with such pointless things again, especially with that noisy crowd.”

“What the hell!!?” The anger suffocated him, so Yata had no choice but to let it out of his lungs. “How could you even say that?  I don’t get it! You haven’t seen him for so long but all you talked about was nonsense! Ask him how’s he doing! Be proud of him! The fuck’s with you!?”

“Stop disturbing my party. Leave or I’ll have guards throw you out by force.” She glared over her shoulder. “I have more important things to do than feigning care for you or _that boy_.”

“Don’t you have a heart!? He’s your--”

“Shut up, Misaki.” Saruhiko snarled bitterly before shifting his whole body toward the door. “I really don’t care either, let’s just go.”

“B-but...”

Kusanagi and Awashima both moved to shield him from the sight of that woman, a slightly forced smile on the bartender’s face while the Lieutenant’s was just...sad.  “It’s ok, Fushimi, Yata-chan. We got you two. There’s no need to waste your breath on those who don’t deserve it at the very least.”  

“...Che! Damn it! Just, what the hell!”

As they were about to leave, however, her cold voice suddenly echoed. She wasn’t that far away, but the word sounded like it came from a whole other world. Maybe it was because she didn’t even turn her head back. “Saruhiko.”

Yata’s eyes widened. He knew he shouldn’t hope for...something, anything good, but he did. He did.

Saruhiko didn’t answer. Didn’t turn round.

Two people, facing two opposite directions.

She continued to talk.

“Your dance is different from _his_ . Your world is neither cruel nor cold, so you’re not like _that man_ or even me. Biological relation aside, you don’t necessary need to be _his_ or my child.”

“......Tsk. You are saying that _now_?”

And with that, they stepped further apart at the same time.

Yata trailed after his partner out of the building, heart aching and legs heavy. His sharp ears barely caught Munakata saying one last thing to that woman.

"Say, Fushimi-san. Who do you think is more despicable, the one who sets the fire, or the one who let it burn?"

Tap, tap, there was no other sound but Munakata’s following footsteps.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

Two weeks later, the case was almost completely solved. Scepter 4 had located the nest of illegal strain experiments thanks to Princess Anwen’s information. Homra also had helped to destroy the lab in which leftover Strains from Europe had been bought to be research subjects. Unfortunate combat-suited Strains that had been sold to the military were rescued and provided with proper treatment.

In short, they were busy. Yata didn’t know if it was lucky or not, given how the workload seemed to keep Saruhiko’s mind from thinking too much about his shitty mother.

Saruhiko having old scars poked at and new wounds scratched wasn't exactly how Yata wanted his partner to open up. Still, that night, while embracing Saruhiko close in his hands, he finally had got to hear a choked-out piece of the story.

Fushimi Kisa was her name, hence the Kisan Kingdom. Even with her cold calculated personality, his father Niki - or " _that man"_ , as Saruhiko had gritted his teeth like the sheer mention had physically hurt him - had insisted that there had been a time she had been a fun toy to play with. It only had taken a Waltz to pull her into Niki's twisted world. Everything had been just a brainy game, and a soon-to-be boring one at that. Kisa hadn't wanted to play or be played. It should have been Game Over if only Saruhiko hadn't come to life uninvited.

Niki had cheerfully told his own son such a thing as soon as Saruhiko had learnt enough vocabulary.

Kisa's definition of "family" was that everything had been a mistake from the start, and she dealt with it like an incorrect spelling on paper. Rubbed it clean with an eraser. Denied its existence.

_"And honestly, that was all it had ever been."_

_"I remember that day, the first clear memory of her. I was sick to the gate of hell, hallucinating from high fever and nightmares about monsters under the bed. The house was empty, but she came back at night. I crawled out of the bed to greet her. She looked down at me and said 'Don't come closer, I don't want to catch your illness'."_

_"I glimpsed her left wrist once. It's just a laugh, yet I could almost hear his voice from those written letters. Fate does have a funny taste, huh?"_

Yata thought about his mother. Tender, loving mother, who had taught him how to be kind, how to know unconditional love was real. He remembered singing with her in the bathtub, helping her to make breakfast, ranting to her about his day at school. He remembered sweet forehead kisses at 10 pm, warm threads of handmade scarves, and pineapple porridge, and “Are you alright?”, and “Good evening, Misaki”, always.

So he had made a promise. _“After we’re done with this case, let’s go visit my family, ok?”_

 _Oh._ That brought Yata back to the present. Because the case was definitely not _completely_ solved. Both Scepter 4 and Homra were pulling their hair over the last on-the-run Strain.

A ferret.

An evil ferret with the almighty power of messing around with people’s memory.

A ferret who somehow had befriended Neko along the way and was now wreaking mischief upon all three clans.

It had started out fairly hilarious, just Neko trying to help her new friend to escape Scepter 4’s hunt. She had used her power to flood Awashima’s team with the illusion of a hundred cute cats, successfully rendering them totally distracted. However, when she had brought the strain back home, Kusanagi had been there already negotiating with Shiro about the whole situation. In a moment of self-defense, the ferret had forced the those two to remember their most shameful memory...and somehow had communicated it to Neko who had most certainly found it _fun_.

Yeah, so now those two just half-heartedly tried not to be caught by neither Homra nor Scepter 4 while projecting people’s memories at the same time.

Hidaka tasted it first, that perverted blue guy... Poof-ed in pink cloud, then suddenly everyone saw his drooling face stuffed in a porn magazine full of big boobed women with a suspicious pen-shaped looking thing in his hand. Then Kamamoto took the hit when trying to lure Neko out with food. Nobody wanted to see a chubby child’s naked bum accidently sat on a cheesy burger in a crowded restaurant ever again.

Even Yata had it upon him when he wasn’t paying attention. The accident of Anna walking in on him in the bathroom had been brought up to life in front of everyone’s eyes…

“I swear I’d make that ferret PAY!” Gosh, he had never wanted to commit homicide so bad.

“Tsk. Goddamnit...As if I didn’t have enough work already.” Saruhiko grumbled on the run. “This is too stupid.”

“Fucking damn right!” Yata kicked his skateboard harder. “Animal strains are rare but they all are so freaking bothersome!”

“That cat woman too... Tsk, the gold clan should just put a leash on them or something.”

“A-ah hey! That’s going too far!”

“Tsk.”

“Geez, stop clicking your tongue and do something! This is so dangerous in such a weird way!”

“We’ve set a trap ahead.”

Akiyama’s squad was spreading a hidden net at the next intersection. They had volunteered Kuro with a dish of grilled fish as bait, figuring Neko wouldn’t strike her friend at least.

When Yata and Saruhiko arrived, however, they were in time to witness the vivid image of the black dog sensually caressing his recorder with the most smitten face. And then a wide-eyed Hieda walked in and asked just what had made someone like him so… “excited”.

Their following conversation took quite a wild path.

“...Ew.” Saruhiko made a disgusted face. Yata agreed for once.

A few steps away, Neko was laughing her heart out. Taking it as a rare opportunity, Akiyama carefully signaled his men to lay down the trap.

“Ekk!” But the ferret had seen him. It sent a big flash and smoke blast toward the fourth-in-command before immediately running off with Neko behind.

It was already too late for Akiyama to dodge, Yata whined, but he actually felt a bit curious what shameful deed a stuck-up guy like that did. Call it a die-hard grudge over Scepter 4.

“Akiyama-san! Watch out!” Abruptly, Akiyama was shoved away at the last fraction of a second.

“Domyouji!?”

Poooooof!

Yata had to admire that bravery and sense of comradery.

“That idiot… He just wants to join the ride, huh.” Saruhiko muttered darkly. “Why does he even feel the need, he already embarrasses himself on a daily basis.”

“He’s being a true friend! Not like somebody who actually pushed me into the hit, shitty Saru!”

“Heh.”

When the smoke became clear, a younger Domyouji, maybe around 14 years old, appeared before their eyes. He was wearing a traditional dojo uniform and holding a bamboo sword.

Only, the uniform was tattered and bloody. The sword was nearly broken. The usually cheerful redhead was breathing hard, sweat running down his bruised face.

“Again.”

He was talking to someone much bigger. The view was partly crooked, only the half lower part of the figure was shown. They were playing with their sword idly.

“It’s been 23 matches. You can’t beat me.” It was a woman’s voice. “Take a rest.”

Domyouji dashed ahead for a quick attack. Even Yata knew it wasn’t an easy move by any means. Still, the teenager was squashed down like a mosquito.

“Again.” He spat, and tried to strike a hit to the ankles. His sword was stepped on before it even got in range. The other foot came pressed down his nape, heel digging painfully into the flesh.

“This is pointless, young master.”

“Again.” Fingers trembling on the floor, Domyouji tried to turn around in vain.“I can definitely do it! Again!”

“Someday, young master. You’re a genius in sword fighting, that day will eventually come if you accept being the heir. A beta like you can never find a better position in life.”

“I won’t become the heir!” The red-haired teenager screamed, his face red with anger and something else. Shame. From the undeniable gap of strength.  “I can defeat you, I can leave! Fight me again!”

The light voice chuckled. “You’re only embarrassing yourself, young master.”

“Yeah... but it’s just right now!” There were drops of frustrated tears at the corner of Domyouji’s eyes. Even so, he grinned up, determination and undefeated belief shining their way through regardless of his restrained condition. “I’ll win before the heir ceremony comes! I want to decide on my own how I want to live!”

“Very well. If so, you should get stronger soon, young master.” With that, the female fighter’s heel dug even harder on the boy’s beta mark. A small snapping sound chillingly echoed before the whole projection suddenly turned off.    

Stood in its place was the sheepish-looking current Domyouji again.

“...Eh, ah, well. Yeah that was really embarrassing, but I honestly didn’t think it was gonna be...” He shook his head, lips curling into a cheerful smile effortlessly. “It’s nothing as bad as it looks. Being beaten by the house head was the norm at our dojo, really!!”

“Domyouji-kun…”

“And I did beat her when I was 17! Ain’t I pretty amazing?”

“Yes, you’re really amazing.” The squad nodded in genuine agreement.

There was probably more to it. Yata didn’t know how exactly Scepter 4 worked, but seemed like nobody wanted to upset the blue redhead by asking right away. Akiyama, Kamo, and someone Yata didn’t recognize just quietly nodded and hugged Domyouji briefly before carried on the mission.

_Newfound respect for them..._

Yata joined the comfort patting awkwardly. They were kinda friends after all.

“Tsk.” Saruhiko didn’t even offer any remarks about how they’d lost track of the targets again. “This is just a stupid case, but it cannot go on longer. I’ll request back up--”

Talk about the back up, the Kings were already approaching them. Shiro, Anna, and even sparkling Munakata who might just be there for amusement.

“....Ugh.Let’s get this over with.”

A new plan was settled. Anna would be the one who dealt with the ferret, since she more or less empathized with animals. Shiro dealt with Neko. And if either escaped, Munakata was ready to outsmart both of them.

Yata and Saruhiko led the chase again. It wasn’t hard since the ferret had a secret GPS transmitter on it, but annoying all the same. Felt like they all had been running for hours.

“Saru…” The redhead groaned. “Are we there yet?”

“They should be around here.”

“I see nothing.”

“So noisy, Misaki. Don’t let your guard down. The catwoman may camouflage with her illusions.” Saruhiko glared, clearly at the limit of his stamina.  

“Yeah, yea---! SARU, MOVE DOWN!”

A flash and pink cloud boomed right over his head. For a second, Yata couldn’t even open his eyes.

“Yata-san! Fushimi-san!”

Yata sat up and groaned loudly as the smoke slowly faded. He was lucky to dodge the sneak attack by half a hair. Not very sure if he could handle another shameful show of himself in front of the whole three clans...no fucking way again, thank you very much.

Stupid Neko and her ferret friend, causing so much trouble like this...The silver King really should keep her in check more strictly. Her illusion and the ferret strain’s memory-infiltrating power were both highly formidable, and absolutely shouldn’t be used for naught. Which they were totally doing on purpose.

“Ugh. This sucks…” He sighed for the umpteenth times. At this rate, he would learn this bad habit from Saruhiko, just great. “Saru, are you okay?”

There was no answer.

“Uhm, hey? Fuck. Don’t tell me...”

Suddenly, a strong gust swept over the big group, making all the pinkish smoke disappear in an instant. Yata blinked rapidly, had to take a moment to process the sight in front of him.

Appearing in the middle of the street was a little child, only 6 years old at most. Skinny, old-fashioned glasses, typical hair style, no doubt this was a memory replay of Saruhiko’s.

But, it was different from everyone else’s.

The child was kneeling on both knees next to a burning heap of what might used to be an anthill inside a glass box. And he...was crying.

It wasn’t like Kamamoto's childish cry, or Domyouji’s frustrated tears. This kid’s face, Saruhiko’s, wasn’t just the face of someone being embarrassed, but it was downright heartbreaking. Tears flowing uncontrollably, teeth gritting tight, expression changing from bewilderment to pain to utter helplessness. All of them were so, so, so unfit for a child this young to wear. It was the kind of crying when someone was abandoned by the whole world.

"Don't die, please, please...there must be some that survived..." The little Saruhiko cried out. He dug into the still smouldering mess of dirty soil and broken glass shards, frantically picking up the barely alive ants, even though both his small hands were cut and slightly burnt. "I'm sorry, it's my fault. My fault, mine, just like the rubik, I should have known..."

Everyone fell into a shocked silence, staring at the display without even daring to produce a single sound.

Yata had no choice but to watch it continue, just like years ago when he had to stand uselessly by the side and watch his best friend risking his own soul. He swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the bitter lump in his throat. Beside him, Munakata and Anna were both narrowing their eyes in unexpected unison.

“W-why?” The little Saruhiko choked out, voice muffled by still running drops of tears. “Da...”

Tap, tap. The boy's eyes widened as he looked up violently as a pair of feet approached him in an odd childish little dance. An ominous shadow loomed over Saruhiko's small frame, but its owner's upper body was cut off due to the limited vision of the replay. Even so, anyone with eyes could tell that the scene looked awfully like a cruel cat playing with its pitiful prey.

And then, came the laughter.

Horrible, horrible, insane laughter. It rang in the air so loudly but so distortedly, almost as if it was trying to stick itself into Saruhiko's mind like a brain disease.

"Oh, you're crying, crying! My little monkey is crying, how cute!" The twisted words were squeezed out between laughs. Those sounds gave Yata a chill deep in his bones, making him involuntary shudder.

That man.

_Ah, of course._

Saruhiko only stared up, baby blue eyes blurred over by fear and a thin layer of water when it shouldn't be that way at all. The kid gulped down a heavy sob, shrinking back a bit as though being pricked, and tried to hide the recused ants behind his back. Sweating. Trembling. Yet, the hands that were holding those weak tiny creatures were gentle.

Fushimi Niki remained standing tall and looking down upon his own son. "Why, you asked? Because it's fun to play with you, of course!" Another sickening laugh. The man stepped a foot on the ruin, intentionally flicking a big cockroach ahead. It landed just inches in front of Saruhiko's knees. "Hey, why the long face? You don’t like my present? Don't you know? There is a certain beauty in broken things."

"I-it's not." Saruhiko shook his head fast. "You destroyed my ant hill!"

"Ahaha, the beautiful ant hill! My monkey's precious, precious thing! Bam, doesn't fire give it a nice colour? Like fireworks! Hey, why don't you bring some friends over so we can all play with them?" Fushimi Niki lowered his head to tease, allowing his face to enter the picture. Most people gasped at their striking familiarity, and Yata took it the hardest, only now noticing just how the Saruhiko after their separation looked like this asshole. "It'll be fine as long as you can protect them, right? Doesn't it sound like a fun game?"

The child jolted visibly, almost falling backward from terror. Not a word escaped his lips, but his expression screamed the loudest. Fire and black smoke reflecting in his eyes, he had already believed that every good thing he might have would be destroyed, no matter how desperately he protected it.

"Well then, won't you show me what you're hiding, monkey?" Crooked smirk, from ear to ear, growing overlarge.

_Scary._

"I..." Saruhiko shrunk even more into himself. Cold sweat running down his forehead, chest heaving, and mouth opening with rapid gasps, Saruhiko was clearly hyperventilating with the way his breath came out all ragged and shallow. The child tried to stay bravely still, but gravity seemed to doom on him as his head slowly stooped lower until he almost bent over to the floor, like an old rag doll losing its support.

“Haha!” Fushimi Niki’s laughter only sounded even more cheerful, as though all this was a brilliant comedy and he loved it with every fiber of his being. “Ahaha, yah hahaha!”

Yata wanted to throw up. After killing that man, that was. And, more than anything, the redhead wanted to stop this madness and wrap his arms around Saruhiko, shielding the young boy from any harm. Then again, this was all in the past, what had been done and had left damage forever. What could he do? There was nothing he could do. Yata tasted blood in his mouth and for the very first time in his life, he was truly, wholeheartedly glad that someone had died.

“So noisy.” Suddenly, a woman’s voice resounded from somewhere that wasn’t in the limited vision. Yata knew it. Saruhiko’s mother’s.

“Morning to you too, Kisa-san.” Fushimi Niki stopped laughing, though his tone was full of amusement.

Clink, clink. The sound of heels gracefully walking on a marble floor.

The young Saruhiko looked up instantly upon hearing it, breaths still strangled and eyes still swollen red with wetness. For a fleeting moment, he mouthed a word that didn’t come out properly as if he had never said it before and didn’t know how to pronounce it.

The clinking sound was getting smaller. Saruhiko got a slightly panicked look in his eyes as he turned toward the source of noise, raising his right hand up instinctively.

The hand that was holding his dear, dear, dying ants.

They were falling. Tiny black dots, like dirty dust in the air.

“Stop making such a worthless mess so early in the morning.” The feminine voice echoed.

That and nothing else. No more noise, no more clink-clink, without so much as a trace that she had ever been there.

Saruhiko let his arm fall, too.

“Oh my, oh my.” Fushimi Niki whistled. “You gave up on them. How pathetic. Such pitiful creatures, betrayed by their owner. Hey, if they could think, what would they think of you? If they could talk, they must have been screaming!”

“…--t up.”

“How funny! How interesting! My little monkey never fails me! Hey, let’s play more and more and more and more, it’s so much fun!”

“Shut up!” Saruhiko growled. A sound that no 6-year-old should know how to make.

“Uh-oh, my little monkey is yelling at me, scary.” The man shrugged. “Don’t wanna play anymore? But, but, no fun! I created you just for this.”

“Get lost! Die! I…Somedays, I— , someone...”

“Someone?” A chuckle. It felt like a curse. “No one will ever come, you know. Do you really believe in soulmates? Are you waiting for something that isn’t going to happen? Monkey really can’t think very well, can it? How embarrassing!”

Saruhiko’s shoulders tensed up for a brief moment before he slowly pushed himself back on his feet. With eyes completely dull and dark, he brought his left hand forward. On his palm, there were still a dozen or so weak, barely moving ants.

“…Right.”

The child had never stopped crying and even now tears were falling freely down a visible trail. However, as he stared up, his helpless expression was combined with not only intense anger and hatred but also determination.

And then, he clenched his fingers. Very tight. Enough to scratch blood out of his pale thin skin.

More than enough to crush all the ants that had left.

Fushimi Niki grinned.

Letting the crumpled black dots drop, Saruhiko bit his lips and stood straight up, all by himself.

“Right. That…really was humiliating, wasn’t it.”

And the memory stopped there. Black and white stripes crossed all over the illusional replay, momentarily blinded everyone. When they could open their eyes again, kneeling alone in front of them was the 23-year-old Saruhiko. Who, despite already being sent back to reality, looked like he had just lost everything again.

_“What exactly happened to you?”_

_“Who were the ghosts? What did they do?”_

_“What is it that makes you so afraid?”_

_“Why have you gone to such an extreme length in everything?”_

_“Tell me, so you don’t have to be burdened with it all by yourself!”_

_“How can I understand you if you refuse to say anything?”_

_“Say something!”_

Ah. He shouldn’t have asked those painful questions. But Yata got the full answers now.

Why Saruhiko’s eyes were sad, his happy smiles faded too quickly. Why there were heartbreaks bound to come. Why a single wrong word could turn to poison, and a second of loneliness could burn every building bridge. Why the nightmares were so intense for these well-kept secrets. Why caring and kindness were such difficult concepts, why throwing them away was so much easier.

But…

As Saruhiko looked up with his eyes filled with fear badly disguised as annoyance, Munakata and Anna were right there. Anna held up the teary ferret and the cat version of Neko, who both unexpectedly leapt onto his shoulders to rub into his neck.

Over their head, flowers fell from the sky like colourful snowflakes. Red roses, golden sunflowers, blue forget-me-not, white lilies, green clovers, and dancing cherry blossom petals. A pretty, heart-warming illusion that felt like it could really come true anytime.   

“They are apologizing.” Pulling a flower crown from thin air, Anna smiled. She carefully put the crown on Saruhiko’s head, nodding to him with an unshakeable belief. “Saruhiko is already okay now.”

“I…” Speechless. Widening eyes.

“Fushimi-kun, welcome back. We’ve been waiting for you.” Munakata gently slid a stray strand of hair behind Saruhiko’s ear, leaving a blue rose after his trail. “What a magnificent world you’ve been creating, isn’t it? This one, I do think is incredibly strong on its own.”

Saruhiko slowly stood up, letting the strains jump back into Anna’s hands. Trembling orbs shifted further, taking everyone in. Silver clan. Homra. Scepter 4.  

Yata.     

“Yeah, it’s ok.” The redhead said, their connected eyes never swayed away. A few steps, and the distance disappeared. “Saruhiko, you do understand that by now, right? We are here. Even after so many things, we’re still here. Me, your King, your comrades, your alliances. So, it’s ok.”

It had been a thorny road. Saruhiko wasn’t the most loveable person. Cold-hearted, sharp-tongued, badly behaved, perpetually pessimistic, prone to making terrible life choices. Even so, despite all his flaws and all the bitterness, he managed to be an amazing person. Someone who had gone astray in darkness, yet had been able to crawl out when given a ray of light.

“...Yeah. Got it.” The taller man let out a shaky breath. He patted Anna’s head, nodded with a small smile at Munakata and his subordinates, then quietly gathered Yata in a soft hug.

Flowers were still falling. A lily-of-the-valley dropped on them, and Yata thought it was only natural for Saruhiko to unintentionally build bridges that surely wouldn’t be burnt as easily as a mere ant hill.  

Hopefully, it’d be a beautiful never.

 

 

**W is for Weaklings**

It was a chilly evening when Fushimi noticed he had a guest just chilling in his room long before he got home.

“You need to stop using these, or they will kill you before you reach 25.” Douhan frowned. She was reading the instructions on his heat suppressants and didn’t hesitate to throw every single one of them into the trash bin. “If you truly want to be a breaker like me, I can help getting you some safe but very expensive medicine. But if you don’t, value your life and get off these drugs right this moment.”

“...Don’t come in my house as you please.”

Douhan and he had been forming an efficient duo. If it came to underhanded methods or sneaky missions, together they were totally unrivaled. Outside of work, their personalities were somewhat compatible. At some points, they even low-key acknowledged each other as a good team partner.

Having said that, sometimes Fushimi still got caught off guard just how casually weird the female ninja could be. She had no concept of personal privacy unless it was business, had an even more terrifying taste bud than the Lieutenant, and was a self-proclaimed beta.

That’s what she meant by “breaker” - someone who denied their biological role and tried to break through to be what they preferred. It was an illegal, dangerous, expensive way of living. He didn’t know what class Douhan had originally been and didn’t care that much, but the amount of money she had to hoard was tremendous. On the other hand, society wouldn’t be kind to her if they found out. She fought all of those anyway, just for the sake of being something else.

Idly, he wondered if it was worth it. Breakers often broke themselves first.

“Do you hate being an omega, Fushimi?” She asked, finally disposing of the last pill.

“...Who doesn’t? It’s annoying and unfair. Not only physically weak, with things like heat and like childbearing, Omegas could never be anything more than dusty flowers beside the sideroad.”

“You’re wrong.” Douhan didn’t miss a beat. “Besides, it’s not about the benefits.”

“So what, then?”

“That’s exactly what you need to think long and hard about.”

She didn’t say anything else, just handed him a box of specially made knives which he had asked for last week before leaving through the window.

He stared at the trash bin for hours, lost in thoughts until there came the sounds of the main door being opened. Shaking his head, Fushimi decided to go welcome his partner home without picking the suppressants back up.

“...What I want to be, huh.”

It wasn’t like he never thought about it. The vague confusion had been swimming at the back of his mind ever since that night at the park - when he had been told by a stranger just exactly what was expected from lowlifes like him. The mark was already carved in stone, fate got the lessers running the downlines like a carefully scripted drama.

Fushimi denied it, just as he denied every visible weakness of his. There was no beauty being vulnerable in this cruel world. He choked down unsafe medicines every morning to forget what he was supposed to be. Yet…, precisely because of that routine, he was painfully reminded of his true nature each and every single day.

Did he truly wish and pray to be something different? Maybe.

But then there was...

“Good evening, Saruhiko!”

He blinked. Misaki was smiling, a tired smile after a long day at work, yet still a precious smile nonetheless.

“Good evening, Misaki.”

But then there was Misaki.

If Fushimi considered merely by being omega people were inferior by default, then wouldn’t that mean he was looking down on Misaki too? No… This man, loved by the flame and the wind, wouldn’t take a second of being misjudged. Fushimi wouldn’t even think about it. For all he knew, Misaki was something above the whole deal of categories and soulmates, a strong, wild crow soaring higher than any dark clouds. If anything, by now, knowing he was actually the same as Misaki was almost… relieving, somehow.

Fushimi found himself surprised at his own thoughts. He shook out of it only to find the redhead looking up at him expectantly.  

“I’m so hungry! Is the food ready?”

“Huh? Ah...I forgot.”

“What the hell? You’re home way before me today but you didn’t even cook dinner? Do your share of chores you jerk!”

“Sorry, I was...busy.” Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Maybe we should eat out tonight.”

“ Geez, at least you should have told me so I could buy take-out or something! You can’t just decide to eat out whenever you don’t feel like cooking!” Misaki scolded. It was endearing to be scolded like this, somehow. Back in middle school, Misaki was the one who had taken care of all house chores, but since they lived together again he was hellbent on sharing and fairness. Like a wife.

Fushimi couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at that. “It’s Friday. You can consider it a date, Misaki.”

“..............Goddamnit, Saruhiko.”

The restaurant served good food. They declined the desert.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Of course, they both knew what came after a “date”.

Fingers entangled as Misaki dragged Fushimi through the empty streets, thin layers of snow melting under their hurried feet, and Fushimi let him, knowing there was only a destination to be reached. Smiling, laughing, Misaki didn’t hesitate to wear excitement on his face. The flickering lights from the street lamps seemed to play hide and seek on his hair. The omega mark on his nape appeared and disappeared alternately behind those auburn strands, not shying away, but more of a provocative motion.

“It feels kinda nostalgic, running hand in hand with you like this,” Misaki grinned, bright, bright, “I feel like we could topple over the world again!”

Oh. Suddenly, Fushimi understood.

It wasn’t about benefits, but about self-contentment. It wasn’t about being strong, but about _feeling_ strong.

Douhan was right. Such a simple thing, but so important that it was indeed worth everything.

Grinning wide, Fushimi pushed his partner against the door of their apartment, fiery lips seeking and demanding. He wanted it. He wanted it quick and reckless and glorious and _right now_. His shuttered name on the tip of Misaki’s slick tongue felt like swaying steps of a bridge, and Fushimi was pretty damn sure crossing it would lead to a world where their souls were dancing together.

“S-Saruhiko,” Misaki breathed. Happy, playful, a touch desperate. “Not here. Come on, open the door.”

“Hmm… Isn’t that your job?” Fushimi smirked, a hand found its way under the other’s baggy shirt, sliding across the smooth skin and enjoying Misaki’s warning glare.

“Learn to do it for one goddamn time.”

“But you keep the keys.”

Misaki punched him square in the stomach. “You have them too.” There was something more in those hazel eyes. Just like when Misaki told him to do his own chores, to come home at a reasonable time, to simply smile and have fun and express happiness if he really felt it. Actually, it was also like when Misaki was hell bent on the rule of literally punching feelings out of him if Fushimi was hesitant to admit things.

“...Fine, fine.”

The moment Fushimi unlocked the door, his waist welcomed the pulsing warmth from a familiar pair of lean yet solid arms. He was spun around, weighted down, his back colliding with the floor but his head was held stable on Misaki’s palm. They stared at each other, smug smile met surprised frown.

“Gotcha.” Misaki said, then helped himself with another delicious teeth-grazing kiss.

“That’s playing dirty, Misaki...” For once, Fushimi really couldn’t cook up anything else for the breathless remark. He didn’t exactly have enough chances to talk, either. It was the kind of kisses that wouldn’t allow them to think of anything other than “Hurry.”

Misaki slipped his hands into Fushimi’s already messed up hair, tipping the taller’s face up for access to begin a long, wet trail all the way down his neck. Fidgeting a little with Fushimi’s jacket’s zip between his teeth, Misaki managed to pull it halfway down, revealing a white V-neck sweater. Breathing loud and harsh, the redhead latched his mouth on the joint where Fushimi’s neck met his shoulder, sucking and biting like he was starving for days. It would leave marks for sure, but the kind of marks he didn’t mind wearing.

Groaning, Fushimi responded by running his hands under Misaki’s clothes, across the redhead’s toned chest and just above the curve of his ass. Ah, how he loved the way every inch of skin he touched seemed to vibrate, to breathe with a sense of _want_ as strong as life force itself. Fushimi gave the hardening nipple beneath his fingers a little tweak, smirking as Misaki shivered from the unwarned teasing.  

“Gosh, Saru, why the hell are your hands still so fucking cold?”

“So warm them up for me~”

“Heck no.”

Making no moves to pry Fushimi’s hands off, Misaki started to pull the other’s sweater neck down a little more. He might be aiming for the shoulder blade, however, the fabric fell lower than expected. Fushimi’s sharp collarbone came clear for sight, as well as the old charred Homra tattoo. It looked better than before, yes, still it was a scar that could never be fully healed.

Both of them froze, eyes wide, lips bitten.

Misaki trembled, very slightly, but Fushimi could feel the tiny waves running through his partner from his fingertips. The winter night suddenly felt too fresh and cold. Their forehead and back dampened with sweat, and the wind decided on a whim to not be too merciful on them.

With only a little help from imagination, Fushimi could see in his mind that forsaken day again from Misaki’s perspective. How his own face would have twisted in a smile full of disasters and suffering. How his fingers would have raked over his own flesh as a metaphoric spit on everything they had had, pride and happy memories and childish obsession alike. How it would have been such a deep, scorching stab to Misaki’s heart - leaving behind a poisoned wound of confusion, helplessness, and anger. Fushimi had been the king of the playground for a moment, but the price was almost unpayable.

The room was quiet. It was not quite the stillness of a large room with too few people in it, but a heavy, startled silence of people who were suddenly overwhelmed by their past. The air was frosty, almost glassy, as if a wrong breath would break it to pieces.

“Misaki.” Swallowing dryly, Fushimi mumbled a very long over-due sentence. “I’m sorry.” He tried to look away from Misaki’s slowly dilated pupils, but couldn’t find the strength to.  

“...Haha. Finally, huh. About damn time, if you ask me.” The redhead huffed out a laugh, small steam clouds flying playfully close to Fushimi’s face. Fingers brushed over the scratch scars; Misaki shut his eyes with a smile insistently tugging at his lips. In an instant, everything breathed into life again, like a magic trick. “Hey, I’m sorry, too.”

Without another word, Misaki granted a kiss upon the little war-torn land. Not many words exchanged, but more than enough. Forgiveness. Acceptance. Blessing. Fushimi wasn’t sure if he deserved them. If he deserved Misaki at all.  

As if reading Fushimi’s thoughts, Misaki looked up at the taller with a smirk, tongue wetting his lips and desire twinkling in his eyes. “Yeah, I guess this is worth all the goddamn pains. I’m pretty sure actually, Saruhiko. How about you?”

“Hm…” Heart pounding in his ears, Fushimi didn’t know what else to say. To make up for his lack of verbal confirmation, however, he scooped his partner into his hands and quickly stood up.

“W-woah! The hell are you doing?” Misaki squeaked, mortified at losing his cool over their previous situation. “Put me down!”

“What, you want to do it on the doormat that badly? Did I perhaps create a monster?”

Crimson shades exploded all over Misaki’s face, even to his ears and neck. Choked screams might have woke the neighbors up if it wasn’t for Fushimi stealing little closed-mouthed kisses along the way. Misaki squirmed stubbornly, though the nails digging into Fushimi’s shoulders for balance were way more honest than their owner.

Fushimi threw his partner on the bed, vaguely noting how the wood creaked in protest. Misaki’s heat circle was going to come soon, they should buy a new bed next week.

“You want to be on top again?” Misaki huffed as Fushimi stroked over the former’s strong thighs, easing them apart so that he could climb between them. “Shouldn’t it be my turn now?”

“Hm.” Fushimi turned the idea in his head for a moment, then only offered a half-smirk as he stripped his partner’s shirt off. “Maybe later.” He slowly slid down Misaki’s body, sinking his teeth into the willing flesh here and there along the way. Leisurely, teasingly, like a gourmet relishing the best dish of his life.

“Damn you…” Misaki writhed against the pillow in such a way that his throat was beautifully exposed, almost as if begging to be bitten. Omegas’ unspoken sign of submission and unconditional giving. If Fushimi had been an alpha, he would have taken the invitation in a heartbeat. To mark Misaki, to claim Misaki as his for all the world to see.

Instead, he hooked a finger under the redhead’s waistband to pull it down, revealing what he was hungry for. Fushimi looked up with half-lidded eyes, lips curling into his best take on a seductive smile right above his partner’s erection. “Let me serve you tonight, Misaki.”

“T-that…! Unfair!”  

Fushimi dragged his mouth down, sliding his tongue along it. Hot and messy and bitter, but he didn’t mind a bit. The sensation of tasting a piece of Misaki, the knowledge that he was making Misaki feel good made Fushimi’s eyes roll into the back of his head. Misaki’s scent and moans took over his senses, clung to every blood cell running in his veins, satisfied his aching craving. He wanted it. The feel of Misaki’s tense muscles, the pleasure expressions, the increasingly lustful voice, the burning heat of his skin, the desperation of his grip. Everything.

All of it.

“There…”

Fushimi let his hands wander freely on Misaki’s body, slithered over the little rough scars on his hips, up to the outline of ribs and heaving chest. Sucking deep and hard without even giving himself a chance to breathe, Fushimi grazed his teeth over the other’s shaft, earning a sharp hiss and an urgent tug on his hair.

“Saru, stop! I can’t--”

“Cwme.”

“Aah! Fuck! D-don’t talk!”

Misaki groaned loudly, legs trembling with a last roll of his hips as he came into Fushimi’s overworked mouth. The mess of semen, drool, and sweat rolled off Fushimi’s tongue and soaked into the sheet, leaving naughty spots which probably weren’t easy to scrub off.

“Gross.” Frowning, Fushimi wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His throat throbbed slightly when he spoke.   

“Who told you to not let go, idiot…” Misaki scolded, though it was so laced with afterglow that it sounded more like a sleepy sigh.

“Hm. Well, it’s fine.” Without so much as a warning, Fushimi flipped Misaki around so he now was lying flat on his stomach. He loomed over his boyfriend’s small figure to reach for the lube in their bedside table, purposefully pressing his still clothed arousal on Misaki’s bare ass. “Don’t sleep yet, we've just begun~ Or do you need a snack break? Should I call for pizza?”

“Fuck you.”

“I think you have a slight misunderstanding of the situation.”  

“Whatever! Hurry the fuck up.”

Successfully retrieving the bottle, Fushimi was about to retort when he caught sight of the omega mark on his partner’s nape. It almost looked like it was swelling under the stray hairs sticking to Misaki’s sweaty skin. “...Nah, Misaki.”

“W-what?”

“Your heat is coming soon.”

“Yeah? So? I’ve called days off and you better do it too, jerkface. I barely got by before, don’t want to go through it by myself again.” Misaki frowned. “Talking about it, I don’t think you’ve had yours yet since we moved in together. Late circle?”

Fushimi took a deep breath before placing a kiss on the redhead’s nape.

“Have you ever thought it’d be better if either you or me were an alpha?”

Misaki looked over his shoulder with a thoughtful face for a few seconds, then smiled tentatively. “I might have thought about it, but now, not really. We wouldn’t be _us_ anymore if that were the case, right? After all, I am me and you are Saruhiko.”

The way Misaki said it lit something up in Fushimi’s chest. Flickering warmth at first, like a lantern on a windy night. So very quickly it flared up into a blazing wildfire rushing through his very being. Once again, Fushimi was reminded of exactly what position they were in, how hot and bothered and desperate and needy they both were feeling from head to tiptoes to deep in heart.

“Misaki…” With a deep grunt, he finally came down for a bite, and more, always more. Lower. Closer. Deeper.

The night was young then, and they sunk into each other’s scent and bodies until the first light broke through the skyline.

\------------------------------------------------------

On an afternoon half a month after Misaki’s seasonal heat ended, Fushimi finally decided to ask Douhan a question.

“How does it feel being a breaker?”

The female ninja glanced at him briefly, then focused back on the road. They were driving a car on the crowded streets after a mission in some rural areas. The traffic was terrible. They wanted nothing but to ditch the car and speed dash to the headquarters, but it was inappropriate to waste public-funded properties provided by Munakata.

“Difficult,” Douhan answered after choosing her words carefully. “But happy.”

_...Happy, huh._

“Why beta?”

“Because I feel like it.”

“It’s true that being a beta is arguably more comfortable than the rest. Can’t do anything great, though.”

“It’s not that.” Douhan shook her head. “I just feel comfortable thinking of myself as such. Beside, if I really want to do great things, I wouldn’t stop just because of my class. In fact, when I was an alpha, ‘able to be great’ was nothing but an unnecessary burden. I’m not above doing anything for money, and as such I won’t pretend to be something nobler than I am.”

“Hm…”

Douhan tapped on the wheel, humming a somewhat familiar tune under her breath. It sounded like Amazing Grace, but Fushimi wasn’t sure. They didn’t say anything else until she stopped the car in front of Scepter 4’s building. However, there was something that lingered in the atmosphere somehow, like the leftover smoke of a dying cigarette, so the blue clansman stayed still where he was. He wasn’t looking on purpose, but his eyes caught a gleam of her left wrist. _See you at school tomorrow._

At last, Douhan spoke. “Do you want to be a breaker, Fushimi?”

Despite having given it some thought, the dark-haired male felt hesitation play at the tip of his tongue. He swallowed it down before it could twist his words. “...No.”

“I see.”

Another silence, but this one was lighter. Fushimi deemed it a good time to get out of the car. When his feet touched the ground, however, Douhan called after him in a rare concerned voice. “Do you still use those suppressants?”  

“No.” This time, the reply came fast.

Douhan looked surprised for a moment, a hint of a smile even ghosting at the corner of her lips. She sharpened her profile into a strictly business-oriented expression again in a blink, though. “Very well. I lost a potential client, it seems. Anyway, be careful.” With only a quick farewell nod, she closed the car’s door and drove away.

Clicking his tongue in vague annoyance, Fushimi stepped into Scepter 4’s hall. May as well get the report done as soon as possible. A busy day was a bad day waiting to happen.

He didn’t expect the absolute chaos in the main office, though.

“No! Get it down now! My research!”

“I-I can’t b-breathe!!”

“Someone put up a barrier!”

“Lieutenant, please make him stop!”

There were no electric lights on, just natural sunlight from the open windows. Many clansmen from many departments were running around like escaping chickens. Broken laptops, torn paper, and chairs were flying all over the room, hitting people left and right. Table cloths were strangling Domyouji and Akiyama, and the tables were hovering upside down above their head. There were big cracks on the windows and rips in the curtains, as if a beast had just clawed at them. Adding to the mess were flickering lights, horrified screams, and a stream of high-pitched cries.

Fushimi had half a mind to just walk back home to chill in his pajamas.

“Fushimi-san! Oh my god, please help!”

Too bad, Hidaka caught him before he could sneak out of the door. The tall subordinate looked positively on the verge of dying, what with one eye black and his body drenched in sweat.  

“Tsk...what the hell is going on?”

Hidaka let out a long-suppressed whine when a stack of pointed pens flew alarmingly close to his other eye. “Captain left us with that strain child again. He’s even stronger than he was 4 years ago!”

Indeed, the cry came from a 4-year-old boy curling under a table near the corner. The Lieutenant and Benzai, along with Kamo, were trying to set a barrier around him, but it seemed like the kid was scared of sharp objects. Whenever someone tried to draw their sword, he sobbed louder and shrunk into a tighter ball.

How ironic it was for a special force which dealt with the most dangerous criminals to be totally at a loss when faced with a little kid. Twice.

“...Lieutenant, like I said, just hug him or something.” Fushimi sighed. He was getting increasingly annoyed at an alarming speed. “At this rate, he’ll single-handedly destroy Scepter 4.”

Awashima glanced awkwardly back and forth between the boy and the office. “I did, I managed to put him to sleep for an hour. However, he woke up with a scream twenty-two minutes ago and has been crying since then. We couldn’t approach him without worsening his mentality, hence further risking the chance of him completely losing control over his power.”

“It’s possible that he’s having a nightmare about adults in general.” Next to her, Benzai was trying to lure the strain with a cute cat plushie from somewhere no one would want to know. “While he showed signs of withdrawing whenever we tried to get close, Kuroh the cat and Yoshino-san from the general department were able to reach him.”

“Isn’t she an adult too?”

“Her appearance is fairly deceptive. In spite of the advantages,” Whoops, the plushie was pulled from Benzai’s hand by an invisible force, but the man himself was pushed away. A dark twitch pulled at the ex soldier’s eyebrow, but disappeared as quick as if it had never happened. “...Yoshino-san made an unfortunate mistake of cheerily saying hello to Zenjou-san when the cat ran to him during the process. Now this poor boy is avoiding them all.”

_What a pain..._

Kamo didn’t succeed with his cake bait either. “We’ve asked for assistance from the Silver and Red clans. However, Neko-san is taking an educational camp trip, and Kushina-san is conveniently tagging along despite being a middle schooler from another school.”

Sighing again, Fushimi was about to complain when a chair abruptly dropped just three centimeters from his face. His whole life flashed in his mind, apparently recognizing it as a near-death experience.

“Shit, this is dangerous… Why the hell did the Captain leave that thing to us!?”

“He’s a human being, Fushimi-san.” Goto had the nerve to correct him. For some reason, the guy was calmly sipping tea from a floating teacup while being held upside down in midair by the curtains.

“I don’t care! Sleep drug him or something!”  

“That’s not very nice of you, is it? He’s just a little kid.” From somewhere in the chaotic crowd, Fuse raised a skeptical question. Most people nodded along, especially those from other departments, equally disheartened by the idea.

“Cut it. You never know how it is to get a fit of power overflow. There are no better options, unless what you all want is either the headquarters completely destroyed or the kid exhausting himself to a life-threatening point,” Fushimi replied coldly. This wasn’t helping his temper. “Distract him, I’ll knock him out from behind.”

“Fushimi!” Awashima called out to him in a warning tone. Then again, she was more realistic and rational than most, so she gave him a careful nod. “Use the least amount of chemicals possible, and be as gentle as you can. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Brushing off disbelieving looks and chirping comments, Fushimi started to move from his standing place. He was silently calculating his moves when suddenly a hand slapped upside his head from behind. Hard. Enough to make Fushimi almost bang his face against the nearest drifting chair.

The whole room fell into startled silence for a moment, excluding the noises of flying and cracking objects. Fushimi grumbled, already knowing which idiot it was before even turning around.

“The hell do you think you’re doing, Saru?” Misaki scowled, fist tightening to give a threat that the next one would be a painful punch. “Save your questionable methods for big dudes! There must be another way, he’s just a kid! For gosh sake, haven’t any of you seen children before? No wonder Anna called me of all people.”

Fushimi wasn’t going to argue that he did use his “methods” on teenage girls and such, and also, no, he knew shit about smaller-than-Anna children.

The third-in-command threw a curt nod toward Kamo, who stiffened visibly. “There’s one that I know, but,” He was going to say ‘he’s useless’, but changed his choice of words last second. “...But nothing worked properly. The cleanest and fastest way is just to let him sniff a bit of a non-toxic sleeping gas.”

“Yeah!? Still! It’s so creepy! Is that really the blue clan’s policy!? And you call your cause _‘pure’_?” Misaki glared.

Fushimi smirked right back. “What you got then, oh great Homra vanguard? Beat your way to him and crash his head? Good old _‘Resort to violence is the ultimate answer in life’_?”

“What’s wrong with you? Why would I hit a kid?”

“Oh I don’t really know, Misaki. How about you tell me?”

“The hell! I’m trying to help here, why do you want to fight, huhh!?”

They would continue to argue if not for a blue slash that went right through between them, effectively pushing them apart. Fushimi turned around, only to face Awashima’s icy eyes, the type that totally spelt ‘guess what, boy, you’re going to have so much paperwork this weekend’.

“Enough, Fushimi. The situation is dire, there’s no room for pointless quarreling. Yata Misaki, if you have a better plan, either state it or execute it this moment.” Awashima sheathed her sword and spoke quickly since her sudden move had upset the little strain. More objects shook strongly, those that were in the air flew even faster.

Misaki flung away a paperclip going at him at rocket speed with his skateboard. With an exasperated groan, he crouched down the floor and fished a red marble out of his pocket. “He’s crying because he had a nightmare, right? Why don’t you think about a more normal response...like actually tell him it’s ok? Play with him? Sing him a lullaby?”

“We did our best to comfort him, Yata-san.” Akiyama finally escaped from the killer table cloths to report. “We haven’t tried lullabies, though I doubt it’d be of help. Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to listen to us, or rather those with obvious adult appearance.”

Fushimi raised an eyebrow. “Right. Maybe the strain will listen to Misaki. He looks like a big kid after all.”

“Shut up Saruhiko! I’m freaking 23 years old! I’m even older than you!”

“Emphasis on ‘ _looks like_ ’, Misaki. Well, it’s not like your personality begs otherwise either.”

“As if you’re the one to talk! Just shaddup!”

Chewing on his lips, Misaki flicked the marble toward the little boy. It rolled on a more or less straight line, somehow wasn’t affected by all the odd defying gravity stuff going on. In fact, the round orb even seemed to have a mind of its own.

“Anna’s marble?”

“Yeah. Shush.”

When it reached the strain’s feet, it glowed a soft, ever-shifting red light, as if there was a tiny flame inside. The boy stared at it through teary eyes, momentarily forgetting to cry.  Everything slowed down a little bit, becoming less and less aggressive.

Taking it as the cue he needed, Misaki stepped a foot on his skateboard and idly rode on it after the exact trail of the marble. Unlike any previous approach attempts, he wasn’t attacked or pushed away by any unstable psychic powers.

“Hello.” The redhead smiled. “Sorry, I flicked my marble too far. Did you see it?”

The child didn’t say anything, only owlishly stared back. Misaki kicked his skateboard up, spinned it a few rounds before setting it next to the boy. He crouched down on one knee, kept on speaking naturally. “It’s a pretty red marble. Hey, don’t tell anyone, but you know what? It actually has magic!”

“M-Magic?” The child’s voice cracked after half an hour of crying, it sounded quite painful. Nonetheless, the fact that he stopped screaming and started talking that easily had Fushimi blink speechlessly.

“Yeah! If you hold it in front of your eyes, you can see something really nice! Uhm...Your name is?”

The boy shyly wiped his slowly drying eyes before he whispered his answer. He was distracted from throwing a fit, but things were still hovering everywhere. “U, ohm, I… Nakata.”

Fushimi blinked again. Nakata. If that was inspired by the Captain he’d bang his head on the nearest wall. Everyone in the room shivered at once in agreement.

“...Alright, Nakata-chan, will you help me find the marble?” Misaki made a clueless face. “Where could it be, I wonder?”

“H-here!” Hurriedly, Nakata picked the object in question up. It glowed even brighter, but with a different light. Silver lining. Not a flame, but closer to a star now.  

Misaki laughed. “Good job! Hey, as a reward, why don’t you look into it? Tell me what you see!”

With only a little hesitance Nakata brought the marble up to his right eye. He gasped, clearly not expecting whatever images he was seeing. Another sob came out, but this time it was rather out of happiness. “Ma! Pa! Sis!”

 _His family?_ Fushimi had a basic knowledge of how Anna’s marble worked. It had many functions - bringing colours to the colour-blinded girl; telling the whereabouts of specific people; being used as communication devices; and glimpsing into people’s thoughts, memories, or fate in a broader sense. There was no way to be sure of what exactly they could do, though, just as no one could understand the world Anna really saw.

“Pa, sis, smile! No mad at Na-tan more?” Nakata pursed his lips. His question was innocent, yet laced with a confused sadness too wrong for such a small child to have. “Pa, Na-tan so sorry, I dunno why it breaks! A-and sis, please let me home, sis!”  

Something gnatched at Fushimi’s cage ribs, like a beast rousing up from its shallow sleep. He reluctantly acknowledged its existence - knowing better by now, but forcing it to be quiet. Instead, he put all his attention on Misaki, who was slowly raising a hand up to pat Nataka’s head.

“Hey, it’s ok.” The redhead’s fingers only touched the boy’s hair when there was no obvious resistance. “They won’t be mad at you anymore. They’ll understand and take you home very soon, I’m sure.”

Tears started to pool at the corner of Nakata’s eyes, the slanting afternoon sunlight making them glitter. He fidgeted around the marble, then decided to give it back to Misaki. “I break Pa’s bottles, so Pa is angry. But everyone always angry at me. Big people like to scream when I break. I often break. Sis says I’m different. Says I should go somewhere else.”  

 _Abandoned._ Fushimi clenched his teeth. _Again._

“...Listen, Nakata-chan.” Misaki nodded. His voice trembled as he tried his best to keep composed. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell them that you’re a very good boy when they come, ok? People are scared of differences, but everyone is different after all. You just need to keep going. Given enough time and effort, anyone could understand anything.”

Misaki really was amazing. Always wearing his heart on his sleeves, always one step ahead when it came to reaching out to others, no matter how dark their stories would be, that was Misaki. That was how he saved people without even trying, even crashed head on into the battlefields or walked right through fortress walls. It was kind of nostalgic, Fushimi found himself thinking so as he rubbed his left wrist against the sheath of his saber.

Nakata swallowed a sob, the sound was audible even in the large hectic room. The child scrambled out of his hiding place to cling to Misaki’s neck, silver lights radiating from his whole body. Misaki picked him up and hugged him close, softly patting his back. “Hush, everything is going to be okay.”

“Uuhm, uhm.” Nakata nodded tiredly. His eyelids lowered, caught up in exhaustion now that he finally felt a ray of relief. Floating objects slowly descended from their heights; quickly Misaki jerked his chin toward the blue clansmen as a signal to take care of it.

“Saru, come here.” The redhead whispered. “Sing a lullaby. He’s almost sleeping.”

It took a few seconds for Fushimi to digest the request. “Huh? Why me?”

“He needs a soothing voice. Come on, you can sing well can’t you? I heard it before!”

Fushimi shook his head as though it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “What makes you think that someone like me would know anything about things like lullabies?”

“Ugh, fine.” The vanguard sighed. “It’s so weird to do this in the middle of Scepter 4 of all places...”

Taking a deep breath, Misaki closed his eyes, and started to sing.

_“And so the little child falls fast asleep, like the embers dying slowly in the fire.”_

His voice was rough and a tad too low, but so, so full of emotions, just like all Misaki himself was putting into this slow, loving song. Raw feelings swayed under each rough-edged word like clear water in a shaking glass.

_“One by one, as my mind tires, I see the faces of all those who sleep in this dark night. Their dreams come forth and spill across the endless sky, then down to earth, where dreamers lie.”_

It was, somehow, a dream-like, heart-aching kind of sentiment. Fushimi clutched the open middle of his coat. Something was pulling, at heart, at the depth of eyes. Not quite sadness, but Fushimi wasn’t sure what. Briefly, he noticed next to him, Awashima and Akiyama were doing the same.

_“On that night, like stars your silver eyes glisten as we watch them. Bright as the sun, the you who shines so bright was born.”_

Nakata’s light shone bright for a moment. Suddenly, extremely quickly, everything dropped down, being fully free of manipulation. Due to strategic preparation, nothing broke or even so much as made a noise. And then, the light slowly died down, in rhythm with the lullaby, in rhythm with Nakata’s breaths.

_“And we watch as our prayers find their way to God, so they could return to us, oh it may take millions of years.”_

Misaki looked up with a soft smile. His reddish hair was beautiful when the sunset got caught in between flowing strands. As if time had slipped away into a dream. For Fushimi, that was a single moment carving itself into eternal.

_“But that won't keep me from praying, oh please, show this child what love is. And so I kiss these hands that rest in mine.”_

And he thought, if there should be a day when everything was on fire... this memory, this lullaby, he would hold close to the very last moment.

Oblivious to Fushimi’s daze, Misaki proudly gave a thumb up to everyone present. “See? He’s sound asleep. You guys just made a fuss out of nothing!”

“Thank you for your invaluable assistance, Yata Misaki.” Awashima promptly expressed her gratitude all professionally, albeit with a somewhat underlying embarrassed tone. She recovered at lightspeed though, wasting no time to rearrange the office as well as take Nakata to a safe comfortable place.

After that, the special force scattered around to finish some important business that couldn’t be done due to Nakata’s disturbance, leaving old geezers and random juniors to do damage control work. Somehow, Fushimi was unexpectedly allowed to stay and hang with Misaki, who wasn’t looking half as uncomfortable as he should be.

That was until they caught the faint muttering in a particular wrong turn of the wind.

_“So that’s the infamous Mi-sa-ki. Wow, I thought it’s a rumour but seems like it’s true after all, hehehe.”_

Fushimi looked up from the laptop’s screen, eyebrows furrowed. Next to him, Misaki immediately stopped talking, certainly had heard it too. They shared a glance. Misaki was positively fuming. Even Fushimi, who had been the subject of stupid gossip for ages, filled fast with irritation. He couldn’t care less if there were whisperings about him. Misaki, on the other hand…

_“What rumour? That he’s dating Fushimi-san?”_

_“No no, that’s good too but you know, the thing about the vanguard of Homra being an omega?”_

_“Oh yeah, I heard it! But I also heard he’s freakishly strong though, it can’t be right!?”_

_“Nah, do you have eyes or did you not see what just happened? That’s natural mother instinct on the spot! Besides, you betas can’t tell, but I’m sniffing some nice pheromones we’ve never had in Scepter 4 right there!”_

_“...Holy shit! But hey, how could an omega be among the heads of Homra though?”_

_“Special services, hah? Look at him all small and cute, plus that sweet scent! Darn, surrounding himself in a ton of alphas all day, what a slu---”_

“SHUT THE FUUUUCK UP!” That bastard never finished his sentence.

A flaming skateboard was thrown with rocket-speed right up that damned face, followed by four knives neatly pinning his collar into the nearest wall. Dark shadows clung to the pair of omegas. They looked ready to kill, even quite happy to do so.

“F-Fushimi-san, and y-yyou...!” Those guys whimpered, faces pale to the death.

“Talk shit behind others’ back. Not cool, man!” Misaki glared.

“Say your last word, then submit a retirement letter on my desk before tonight,” Fushimi said coldly.

The other guy had the nerves to talk back. “That’s unfair! We’re sorry but, but... he doesn’t deserve to be fired…!”

“Do you question my authority? If so, you can retire with him too.”

“I, I...don’t. Even so, Fushimi-san, it’s just a harmless conversation so…”

“Scepter 4 doesn’t need useless talking garbage stealing money from those who actually give a damn about working.”

Their little conflict quickly drew the entire office’s attention. If not for fear of their own lives, there’d be a circle formed around them like the audience of a street performance. Misaki scowled at those curious stares, nonetheless. Even so, some people dared to stare back with a very odd, almost intense look.

Misaki raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me…”

The pinned badmouth clansman, who was staying weirdly quiet this whole time, suddenly growled loudly. Wide-eyed, fang bare, he looked nearly animalistic. The signs of an alpha losing control. With a burst of unexpected strength, he yanked himself out of the knives’ grip and dashed toward the pair’s direction.

“Misaki!” Fushimi stepped up to shield his partner, but was immediately pushed back. Instead, he found his vision fully filled with a familiar, familiar strong back. “Misaki?”

“Idiot, it’s you! I’m already off heat!”

It hit Fushimi like a hand grenade.

The moment he acknowledged it, the heat consumed him whole, forcing him to fall on his knees. It all made senses - the irritation, the gnashing feelings running underneath his skin today.  He had a dry throat and dry hands, a slight headache and an unbearable urge to scratch his inside out. Every blood vessel in him burned, burned, burned, he couldn’t breathe. Need, yearning, _desire_ roused off his skin like smoke hovering over a lake on a winter morning. His last rational side briefly wondered if this was what the alphas were looking all intoxicated sniffing on.

Disgusting. Threatening. Menacing.

The out of control clansman took a leap at Fushimi, snarling and swearing, but Misaki was right there to kick him off. Red aura gushed out of his body, maybe weaker than before but no less brilliant. Not a fire for battles or pride, adrenaline or tense nerves, but a fire for protection.

“Don’t you fucking dare! Just because of some stupid scents that we can’t control… Are you even human!? Only beasts would do so!” Misaki angrily stomped a foot on the floor, arms spreading wild as though flaming wings of a fallen angel. “Do you even know who you’re messing with? He’s your superior!”

The kick might have done its work to sober the guy up. He gasped, then sneered with as much venom as a person could possibly produce. “Third-in-command my ass! We know how he made it now! He’s nothing but a liar, a pathetic bitch trying to sneak into a government organization! And he’s walking around us while in heat, he’s practically asking for it!”

Ah. He had been on suppressants for too long, he forgot his circle timing. Just like he had been around extraordinary people too much, he forgot how society was supposed to be.

Chirping noises raised from the background. Some of them were subtle agreements, others were outright insults and on-spot gossips. Omega, omega, shouldn’t be here, cheat, screw his way to the top, have it easy, should’ve seen it coming from that pretty face, act all high and mighty, where’s his alpha to keep him in line, can you imagine him bearing a child, liar, liar. They all mixed together in Fushimi’s buzzing head, and soon all whispers sounded the same as a broken radio.

“Keep barking like blind dogs, will you?” Breathing hard, he tried to get up with shaky legs. His unexpected heat was bone-deep painful, but he wouldn’t fall apart just yet. He clung to Misaki’s shirt for support, knuckles turning white from the tight grip. Even when each word stung his throat like a bullet ant, Fushimi forced himself to scream out. “How does something like this overcast what I can do and everything that I’ve done? You don’t get to decide what I am!”

His rarely-let-out loud scream resounded through the whole spacious office, stunning those people into a brief silence. When the first noise came again from the mass, Misaki cut it short by yelling at the top of his lungs furiously.

“You think it’s funny?” The redhead lifted Fushimi’s arm over his shoulder, taking more than half of the dead weight. Fushimi could feel rather than hear the thunderous heartbeats of Misaki echoing into him as if sharing lifeforce. “ Omegas aren’t born to be cute and used, we’re thrashing and writhing and burning to our core just to live as we want to! We’re not ashamed of who we are, and we’re not taking shit from no one because of a silly mark either!”  

Without waiting for a response, Misaki turned them both to the door. “Let’s get you home, Saru. This time, I’ll take care of you.”

Outside the window, the sun had almost disappeared, only a few stubborn rays of orange still desperately clinging to the darkening sky. Though the lights in the room were bright, somehow it didn’t feel that much different from that sight.

Still, it wasn’t like Fushimi was in the right mind to dwell on it. He couldn’t think of anything. Too hot. Too many strong mixed scents. His body was screaming for attention, yet the attention given to him made every single one of his hairs stand on end in distrust as well as disgust.

“What do you think you can do, Mi-sa-ki-chan? You can’t even have children together. One day he’d leave you for his soulmate for sure~ Some of us could actually help an omega in heat, duh.”

Misaki didn’t have the chance to snarl back an insult. A cool, composed voice did it for him. “Very well. A selective assemblage may have need of a very long talk with me, as it comes to my notice.”

“C-Captain!”

Through hazy eyes, Fushimi could barely make out the tall figure in front of him. He felt a special pulse he had never known before beat strongly, coming from his natural marks and going lower, lower, fueling his increasingly hard erection. As if his body was insistently notifying him that his fate-chosen mate was present right there. He fought the urge by buried his face in Misaki’s neck, seeking comfort from the familiar sunny scent.

Someone had the guts to attempt reporting. “Captain, please hear us out! Fushimi-san is--”

Munakata smiled so calmly that it was beyond scary. “I am fully aware of Fushimi-kun’s and Yata-kun’s nature. That is to say, it doesn’t in any way affect their brilliant abilities nor their great effort. Please refrain from taking your imbecile judgment out on them, for it wouldn’t do much good to live with such a ludicrous standpoint and limited intelligence.”

No one dared to say a word more. The blue King nodded in satisfaction, yet the gleam of his eyes warned that this fiasco wouldn’t end so peacefully. Munakata’s focus then shifted to Fushimi, whose sweaty forehead kept sliding off the other omega’s shoulder.

“If you would follow me, Yata-kun.” Munakata turned around and walked down the hallway.

“We’re going home.” Misaki grunted, but stepped along anyway. Fushimi swallowed a groan as he was moved.  

“Indeed it’d be the best condition. However, Fushimi-kun doesn’t look like he’d last a ride. First priority should be calming him down.” Munakata fished a key out of his pocket as though he had always been carrying it around. “For the time being, you have my full authority to use the storage room in the left wing. Very rare are the occasions that somebody would come near it.”

“Geez. Thanks, I guess.” The vanguard sighed. His fingers tightened on Fushimi’s arm that was winding over him. “...You won’t tell them you’re Saruhiko’s soulmate?”

“While I don’t necessarily keep it a secret, I believe it would not be the best to contribute more material for harmful gossip. Soulmates are often a subject easy to be taken in many ways, and not all of them are kind enough.”  

“Hm, yeah... It’s kinda awkward talking to _you_ about it, though.”

“Oya? Don’t mind me too much, Yatagarasu-kun.” Munakata gave a playful sparkling smile. “I made it crystal clear that I’m of no harm to you, or Fushimi-kun for that matter.”

Fushimi snorted at that despite his current state.

The very last room of the hall was their stop. Munakata opened the door, then handed the key over to Misaki. They didn’t notice it before - even though the Captain’s face was as collected as ever, his hand was trembling just a little.

“Then, I’ll excuse myself. The rest depends on you, Yata-kun.”

“Got it.”

Fushimi would have mumbled a “Thanks, sir” if he wasn’t immediately being pulled inside. Misaki hastily locked the door, then dropped the key on the box right next to it. His eyes were already blown wide, clearly affected. He pushed the taller man against the wall, starting it off with a deep kiss.

Fushimi couldn’t breathe. Tongue dancing in his mouth and drool running down his chin, hot and fervent, and his back rubbing against the cold surface, and Misaki’s hands gripping his waist, and all of a sudden he wanted nothing but to lose control of himself, to give up his body for the pleasure to come - to be filled, to be held. A wild, untamed desire that felt way stronger than his usual engagement in sex. He kissed back with all of his strength, but he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe.

“Easy, Saru.” Holding Fushimi’s hand for reassurance, Misaki slowly pulled back to whisper in his ears. “Relax and inhale. In, out, in, that’s it. I’ll go slow, ok?”

More than words, it was the sheer sound of Misaki’s voice that got through Fushimi’s fuzzy head. He gasped, trying to get his emotions under control along with his breaths. But the heat, like a thousand flaming butterflies fluttering inside him, didn’t make it easy at all. Even a single touch on his palm drove him insane.

“Your reactions are too strong. You ok there? Not over-sensitive or too painful?” Sweetly, slowly, the redhead licked a trail along Fushimi’s earlobe down to the side of his neck. A sharp fang grazed a sensitive spot, and subconsciously Fushimi moved away a little. “It’s been awhile, right? The longer your heat was held off, the worse it is when you get it.”

“Great, I’m damned.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” Shaking his head, Fushimi forced his stiff muscles to unwind. It backfired instantly as his legs almost gave in under the sudden pain. Annoyed, he faked his near-fall as an attempt to pull Misaki’s pants off.

“Let me. Just stay there.” Misaki took over even that little act of independence, taking off his own clothes as well as Fushimi’s.

There was no strip tease, just quick tear and throw. They were both too worked up for it. And soon they were nothing but bare skin and warm flesh. Pale and lean up against tan and firm. Rough calluses, faded scars, sharp joints, smooth curves, all displayed for show. Fushimi’s musky scent - now having no wrappers to conceal - melted in the air, muddled into Misaki’s own, and everything, everything seemed to be heavy and airy at the same time.

“Fushimi Saruhiko... You really should see yourself right now.” Misaki held up the other’s chin, smirking openly. “Now I know why you kept teasing me when I was in heat.”

“Tsk...” He would complain, but something about the way Misaki used his full name took his already short breath away.

“Can you handle it now?”

“Hm.” Fushimi shifted uncomfortably.  He was so hard it was painful and having sex sounded more than wonderful right now, but there was still something lingering that kept him from being at ease.

Misaki managed to pick it up. “What’s wrong? Nervous? But it’s not like it’s your first time bottoming.”

“First being in hea---”  

_“You could never be more than a speck of dust.”_

_“Won’t you and your pretty friend just kneel down already~?”_

_“But you yourself are just an omega! You can’t-“_

_“You are...dancing a tango with destiny.”_

_“No one will ever come, you know. Do you really believe in soulmates? Are you waiting for something that isn’t going to happen?”_

_“Some of us could actually help an omega in heat, duh.”_

Ah, that’s it.

Those people’s intense eyes flashed through his mind. Whispering and screams played like overlap audios. The expectation that he should submit, wait on, offer himself up to those from higher. The unspoken fear of being taken advantage of and being walked away from. And the feeling of being looked down, down, down, someone just waiting for him to fall onto his hands and knees like the weakling he was supposed to be.

How long had he been fighting to stand up? How long had he been burying his instincts as an omega? How long he had convinced his mind, body, and soul to never bend under anyone, until they all rejected everyone like a conditional reflex?

Too long.

Fushimi took a shuddering gasp. He might have felt like this before, when he was taking Misaki for the first time. However, this was different. This was him opening a tightly screwed-shut lid of a part of his own being. Like a pandora box, he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea.

Still, he was willing to try.

“I… Misaki.” He kissed his partner, putting the fire that was licking over him into it to the last of moment of it. “I’m scared.”

Misaki was right there to hold him. “Tell me why.”

And Fushimi did. In short, broken words, interrupted by shuddering pants. His impatient body occasionally twitched and sought for frictions that distracted them both. His hands somehow found their way to cover his ashamed face. But he did.

“Heh, for once I completely understand, but, Saruhiko...” The redhead wrapped his arms around Fushimi’s hips, pressing them even closer together.

“What?”

“Believe me a little,” Misaki whispered in erratic huffs, voice low and rough at the edge. His eyes shone brightly, piercing a shiver down Fushimi’s spine with the raw love and desperation brimming in them. “I know you’re strong, so strong that you’ve been able to fight your nature until now. But, Saruhiko, omegas aren’t weak. Being one is not a weakness.”

Gulping the throbbing lump in his throat down, Fushimi lowered his arms just a little bit, still not quite conformable to smash all the guarding walls he had built so carefully throughout the years. His entire body was still hot and in pain, like a lonely wounded beast screaming for attention.  “Misaki…”

“I can show you how it is.” Misaki slid Fushimi’s stray hair back to free his sweating forehead, and placed a soft kiss there. That gentle gesture somehow conflicted with the sensual way Misaki’s hand ghosted over his bare chest, but Fushimi couldn’t help but arch into the touch. “I can take care of you, ok? Please, give yourself to me. Trust me.”

 _Trust me._ Fushimi turned and twisted these simple words in his head, trying to find a fault in them. There was none. _Trust me._

“Saruhiko.” Misaki smiled. “Give in, now. Surrender...”

_Trust Misaki._

“Heh.” The in-heat omega let out a shaky laugh, and threw the last of his defense away. “Never knew you’re this type, Misaki.”

Fushimi leant back on the wall - eyes closed, head falling back - and for the first time ever in his life, bared his throat for someone else to bite and mark.

_It’s okay, it’s safe, I’ve always trusted Misaki, after all._

And Misaki took the offer without hesitance.

If he had been smouldering for awhile, it was crazy how a single bite could blow Fushimi up into a firestorm. From that moment on, it was as if a switch inside him was flipped. He arched into Misaki’s hot mouth, shoulders shifted down almost painfully, throat exposed and vibrant with a deep moan. His fingernails dug into Misaki’s bare arms, scratching and raking bruising red tracks.

“There.” Misaki ran a thumb over the teeth mark. “Mine.” The mischievous thumb trailed down, gliding across Fushimi’s collarbone, playing briefly with a nipple, then finally gave his cock overdue attention.  

“Misaki…”  Hissing lowly, Fushimi swore he had never been this sensitive. Waves of sparks were sent into his nerves through each stroke, and he couldn’t help but rock into Misaki’s hand despite his shaky legs.

But it wasn’t enough. The fire had burnt him whole and demanded more to feed on. “More.” He joined a hand along with Misaki’s, trying to increase the speed and roughness, “C’mon...”, not quite begging because Fushimi did not beg ever.

Maybe only so long, though.

With an almost feral groan, Misaki hastily wrapped his free hand around the taller’s hips and spun him around. Fushimi’s face was pressed on the hard surface, not too harsh but enough to wipe his glasses off to the floor. Even though the new position was perhaps a little awkward, Misaki made it up by slipping a finger into him while still carrying out his other service. He even helped himself to gnaw at Fushimi’s omega mark to match with the one he left on the front.

“F-Freaking biter.”

Misaki’s mouth hung open, his expression hungry. Fushimi couldn’t make another complaint though, too busy twitching and squirming as another digit pushed its way in his slick, ready to mate entrance. When Misaki curled his fingers upward, it had Fushimi dizzy with sheer pleasurable sensations. They knew they should be quiet, but both were too far gone to hold back loud moans right now.

“Saruhiko,” Misaki knew better than to draw it out too long though, having experienced first-hand how extremely convenient heat was for skipping preparation. “F-fuck, I’m going…”

“Yeah… Misaki, just do it.” Fushimi huffed, barely able to catch his breath. Looking over his shoulder was a mistake... Misaki was cute and so sexy...

They had to shift their hips a bit, and Fushimi had to spread one of his legs embarrassingly high. He didn’t really mind it, especially when Misaki obliged him quickly enough. Fingers were pulled and he didn’t even have a second of feeling empty before being filled so fully by Misaki again and better.

The first thrust hurt just a little, but so damn good it was. The satisfaction of flying in a dream only came ever so close to that feeling.

And it only went uphill from there, firestorm fed and fed on their every movement, every moan, every shuddering gasp. Misaki bit down on whatever flesh was laid out to him, frantically yet somewhat in correlation with his thrusts. Grunting and groaning, Fushimi tried to grasp at something whenever he was tasted - only the wall and the hair of his partner were in range, so he scraped them both as desperate as a drowning man.

“Hah, you feel so good, Saru…”

“M-Misaki, there! _Ahh,_ that’s it, again... Misaki, please...”

Fushimi wasn’t sure why he had been so afraid about submitting himself, because this was - this was…

Tap.

Even with the blinding pleasure that was eating away his mind, Fushimi could still hear some footsteps echoing through the wall his face was pressed against. Someone was coming along this hall.

Alarmed, he twisted his head around to give a warning, barely able to swallow a moan when the sudden move sent a tingling rush shooting through all his bones.“W-Wait, Misa--uHm!”

“So-sorry!” The redhead grunted and didn’t even slow his frantic pace down. “I can’t, ugh, just--bear it a little more, Saruhiko.”

“Are you an idiot!?”

“Please! You’re doing a good job, Saru, please.” Misaki breathed into Fushimi’s ear, hot, rough, and suddenly forceful. Two fingers sneakily wormed themselves into Fushimi’s mouth, playing with his quivering tongue and keeping all the needy sounds inside. “You’ve been so good…”

It shouldn’t have made his blood boil, but it did. Those little praises went straight to Fushimi’s leaking cock. He had to chomp down on the redhead’s index finger to not scream or choke himself when he came hard, a tad too early.

Still going at an unbearable speed, Misaki whispered in between kisses and bites. “A little more, hah, Saruhiko, you’re amazing, uhmm, I love you, Saruhiko.”

There were no footsteps anymore, whoever they were must have already left. Breathless and overdosed, Fushimi slid down the wall and let Misaki ride out the last of him on the floor. Lost in a bliss daze, he barely noticed how the burn and pain of his heat had reduced to a lingering ache. If his partner were an alpha, he’d have been knotted and totally got rid of it. But he would always choose Misaki.

Fushimi jolted as Misaki hit an over-sensitive spot, whining loudly as he clamped down and curled up. It was an odd balance between painful and pleasure, like a passionate kiss at the moment a thunder struck. Odd, yet perfect.

It sent the redhead over the edge, quick and glorious. Misaki pushed all his weight down and came inside Fushimi as deep as he could, clearly showing his possessiveness over a sated mate.

Chest heaving as they both caught their breaths, they shared a lazy smile and a final brief kiss.

“Who knew Misaki could be so sexy when he’s in total charge, huh?”

Misaki rolled his eyes. “You were a bit of a beast too, what with those grunts and groans.”

“Whose fault is that? My throat is as sore as my ass now. And then there’s still the walk of shame...” The blue clansman cringed. The whole clan must have known by now. Not like he particularly cared, but it was annoying all the same.

“Fuck them.”

“Plan to.”

“Heh.”

\---------------------------------------------------------

After finishing cleaning and putting on clothes, they opened the door with the full intent of sneaking home as quietly as possible. Much to their dismay, they turned around only to catch sight of Munakata walking up the central staircase. The King noticed them only a second later, friendly waving and all.  

“Did he creep on us or something? Don’t tell me that room actually has a camera,” Misaki muttered.

“Possibly. It’s the captain after all, who knows what he’s thinking.”

When they approached the stair, Fushimi noticed there was one more person next to his King. A girl in her late teens, to be exact. She looked nervous, almost on the edge of tears. In her hands was Nakata, who was still sleeping peacefully.

Munakata smiled pleasantly as if reading his mind. “This young lady is Hiba-kun, Nakata’s sister. She’s been looking for him.”

Misaki peeked from behind his boyfriend, evidently panicking because of good old girl anxiety but still pissed off enough to scold. “It’s you who told Nakata to go away? How could you do that to a 4-year-old child?”

The girl flinched. “I-I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Then what did you mean?”

“Calm down, Yata-kun. There may have been a misunderstanding.” Munakata chuckled. “This lady has quite an insensitive mouth; however her heart is kind.”

Fushimi cocked an eyebrow. “That strain said the adults around him were angry when he lost control of his power, and his sister drove him away for being different.”

“It’s true that my dad isn’t the best man when he’s drunk.” Hiba looked at her feet ruefully. “Na-tan’s a good boy, but children can be a handful at times, especially if they have... powers. He was fine until a year ago, when the control seal suddenly didn’t work anymore. People weren’t merciful on our family when he accidentally showed his ability. We tried, we really tried! We love him...but it can be so tiring. Today, dad lost his temper badly, so I told dad that Na-tan was different from us but he just couldn’t help it. It was a bad idea to tell him to run without explaining, but at the time I was just too worried for his life.”

Nodding lightly, Munakata added, “I found Nakata-kun in the children's playground on the way to work. He seemed to not be in the best mood; however, fixing his ability suppressor is the top priority. Therefore, I temporarily entrusted him to Akiyama-kun.”

“Captain… You just want to see us suffer, don’t you?”

“Oya? I don’t recall if I truly had such a thought.” The King shifted his shiny glasses for dramatic effect.

“Tsk.”

“S-So, thank you so much for your help, Munakata-san! Now that I’ve found him, please excuse me.” Hiba bowed a farewell politely before she carried the child home.

_...His family wants him back. Despite his differences, he’s wanted._

Fushimi shook his head. He looked at Misaki and reminded himself of the lullaby, of what Misaki said during the scorching heat _. Being wanted..._

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few days later, a letter came to their apartment’s mailbox.

From Sato Misaki, to Fushimi Saruhiko.

He opened it when there was no one around.

The first few lines read:

_“Dear Fushimi-kun,_

_I have a favour to ask of you, but before you read the rest of this letter, please answer this question. If the answer is no, by all means, please don’t continue._

_Do you have faith, Fushimi-kun?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The song Yata sings is the altered Engish lyrics for Musician - D.grayman OST


End file.
